Gone From Danger
by Vuli
Summary: While struggling to come to terms with recent events, Obi-Wan discovers that his life is being threatened by dangers both within and without.
1. Chapter 1

Author: Vuli

Rating: PG

Summary: While struggling to come to terms with recent events, Obi-Wan discovers that his life is being threatened by dangers both within and without. Indirect sequel to "Finding Grace" - expands on a minor point in that fic. Pre-TPM – Obi is 18.

Category: Angst, h/c

Disclaimer: The old part: this wonderful universe belongs to George Lucas, perhaps the luckiest s- ah, human being in our own reality. I choose to call this a tribute to his genius. :D The new part: the title of this fic is taken from the Joan Baez album "Gone From Danger" and belongs to the artist and The Grapevine Label.

Feedback: Very much appreciated, and big hugs to all who reviewed my last fic – it really meant a lot. Thanks guys!

Archive: If you want it, take it…just give me the credit, okay?

Spoilers: References to "Finding Grace"

* * *

Gone From Danger - Part 1/?

* * *

Obi-Wan Kenobi floated helplessly in clinging, suffocating darkness, adrift in a haze of agony and fear that threatened to consume him completely, his only anchor the dull thud of his own heart thumping irregularly and the distant sound of shallow, laboured breathing. He was vaguely aware of other stimuli around him: the hard metal surface of a chair beneath him, warming as it slowly leached his body heat; the stench of blood and sweat that permeated the faintly metallic smell of recycled air; the clamminess of long-congealed blood trailing down one side of his neck from a collection of gouges across his jaw.

In addition, he was also conscious of the relentless pain of similar injuries, both internal and external, although the former appeared to be minimal. The left side of his face was the initial cause for concern: above the deep scratches on his jaw, his cheek was badly swollen and split open just below his eye, the bone beneath the bruising more than likely fractured, and he could feel a gash across his temple, stretching past his ear, the short hair surrounding it matted and clumped in spikes from drying blood.

However, the physical pain mattered little - the mental agony that pounded through his head eclipsed even these sensations, shattering all coherent thought and gradually destroying him from the inside out. The ragged breathing that somehow kept him focused was punctuated now by a broken voice which he distractedly recognised as his own, sobbing for relief, although there was no one to hear his cries. The moans quickly escalated into a harsh scream as the pain mounted intolerably, the sound forming a single word that was shrieked in utter desolation:

"_Master!_"

Lurching upright, Obi-Wan woke with a sharp, choking gasp, his hands pressing instinctively to his temples even while his body was racked with a bout of fierce, spasmodic coughing as he struggled to draw a breath. Fortunately, his reeling mind quickly regained control and his breathing relaxed into a steadier rhythm, the last remnants of panic dissipating; groggily, he slumped back onto the bed and passed a hand across his eyes before rubbing it through his hair in agitation, deeply unsettled by the intensity of his nightmare.

"Force, what's wrong with me?" he whispered, his hand dropping to fidget with the braid trailing across his chest as he contemplated the question.

Since the attack that had very nearly cost his Master, Qui-Gon Jinn, his life two months ago and the subsequent events that had followed, Obi-Wan's dreams had adopted a sinister, recurring theme of imprisonment, torture, even death. But while these often varied, the element of overpowering darkness remained a disturbing constant; recently, it had spread beyond his dreams, invading his consciousness during meditation, and it had also begun to cause acute nausea, especially after a particularly harrowing nightmare.

As though prompted, a sudden wave of queasiness disrupted his thoughts, and he rolled off the bed, hurrying from his room to the 'fresher where he sank to his knees and vomited, retching convulsively. After several minutes, the nausea abated and he slumped back into a sitting position on the floor, his pulse and breathing rapid yet again. Wearily, he dropped his head back against the wall, trying to summon the energy to get up again - the distance back to his bed suddenly seemed impossibly far. However, the sound of movement in the living area galvanised him and he rose on trembling legs, stumbling out of the 'fresher to see Qui-Gon entering their quarters; the Jedi Master looked at his apprentice in surprise, his forehead creasing slightly in concern.

"Padawan? Are you all right?"

Obi-Wan nodded automatically, a frown of his own darkening his expression as he noted that his Master, although dishevelled as though he himself had only just risen from bed, was fully clothed. "What's happening?"

"The Council has summoned me for an emergency mission," Qui-Gon replied, striding into his room. "I am to depart with Master Sansaro immediately."

The mention of Ruya Sansaro, one of the most experienced Jedi in the Temple, distracted Obi-Wan briefly. Ruya was a long-time associate of Qui-Gon's from their early Knighthood days, when they had frequently been assigned missions together. It was a partnership that worked well, mainly due to the fact that both were unusually sensitive to the Living Force and therefore exceptionally attuned to each other's state of mind. In the same respect, they shared a significant character trait: both were men motivated by their instincts and emotions, a drive that often seemed contradictory to the teachings of the Jedi.

Even as Obi-Wan considered this, the wording that Qui-Gon had used began to register, and he hurried to the doorway of his Master's bedroom in alarm. "You're going without me?" he demanded, watching the elder Jedi place items into a travel pack with a feeling of distinct unease. While he had not spoken of his dreams, the knowledge that he had the choice to turn to Qui-Gon should the situation worsen had helped him to detach himself from the frightening reality of his nightmares; without Qui-Gon's proximity, Obi-Wan was unsure whether he could maintain that distance.

"It isn't the first time, Padawan," Qui-Gon reminded him mildly, glancing at him without pausing. "I won't be gone long."

"That's not the point." Obi-Wan folded his arms and hugged himself nervously, the nausea from before returning with abrupt severity until he gained control of it and forced it away.

Qui-Gon did pause now, raising an eyebrow at the younger Jedi's almost petulant tone. "Oh? And what would the point be, exactly?"

"What if something goes wrong?" Obi-Wan asked without hesitation, letting his arms drop back to his sides, where his hands promptly clenched into fists. The memory of Dareela rose unbidden in his mind. They had been fortunate to survive that mission together; what if it happened again, and Master Sansaro was as unable to prevent it as Obi-Wan had been?

Sighing, the noise tinged with impatience, Qui-Gon returned to the travel pack and sealed it before focusing his attention on Obi-Wan. "There is always that possibility, Padawan. Your presence will not alter that."

He lifted the pack and settled it on one shoulder, moving toward the doorway; for a long moment, Obi-Wan remained in place, physically preventing his Master from leaving, but he reluctantly stepped back after a harsh look of reproach. However, he reached out and caught the sleeve of Qui-Gon's robe as he passed by, halting the older man and forcing him to turn and face him.

"Master, please," he pleaded softly, unable to keep a tremor from his voice. "Tell the Council you've changed your mind." The force of his emotions succeeded in filtering through his control, transforming his expression into one of intense, desperate fear.

Qui-Gon's own expression softened and he placed a reassuring hand on his distressed apprentice's shoulder. "Obi-Wan, I am grateful for your concern over my well-being, but you know I cannot rescind this mission simply because you have a few misgivings. The Council would not allow it, and neither would I."

"But Master-"

"Padawan, enough!" Qui-Gon snapped, and Obi-Wan blinked in shock at the other Jedi's raised voice. "Your reservations are misplaced and, frankly, not completely unbiased. What happened on Dareela was unfortunate, and I'm sorry that you had to go through what you did, but there is no need to take it upon yourself to protect me, Obi-Wan!"

Flinching, the teenager lowered his head, gaze downcast. "I'm sorry," he murmured, struggling for calm, finally looking up at Qui-Gon with misery in his eyes. "I'm sorry that you can't understand how much you mean to me."

Qui-Gon floundered momentarily for a response, completely taken-aback, then cast the travel pack on the floor and drew his Padawan into a tight hug. "I didn't intend to sound insensitive, Obi-Wan," he explained quietly. "I do understand your feelings, although I admit that at times I underestimate their strength." His arms tightened unconsciously around his apprentice as he spoke, and Obi-Wan sagged against him, his distress receding slightly. "However, I'm afraid that your desire to protect me might lead you to sacrifice your own personal safety, and that I cannot condone, because of how much _you_ mean to _me_."

At that point, before either could say anything more, the door chime sounded and Qui-Gon looked round toward the noise; panicking, Obi-Wan pressed his face into his Master's tunic, clutching at his robe as though he could keep the man there by sheer force. Smiling wistfully, Qui-Gon pressed a kiss into his Padawan's hair and gently eased him away.

"I can't stay, Obi-Wan," he apologised, moving to answer the door, and nodded in greeting to Ruya, who stood expectantly in the hallway beyond.

The slightly older Jedi Master, a formidable Toorkan whom Obi-Wan had met on several occasions, was darkly tanned, his shoulder-length auburn hair pulled back into a short braid that was pinned in an 'S' shape on the back of his head. Shining violet eyes and a ready smile softened the sharply delicate face, but what drew most attention was the spiral tattoo that adorned one side of the Jedi's neck, detailed in black and the same violet hue of his eyes, tendrils of each colour fanning out from the main pattern to spread downward, disappearing beneath the man's tunics, and upward across his right jaw and cheek to a second, smaller spiral at his temple.

Obi-Wan mustered enough composure to bow respectfully to Ruya and summoned an empty smile of reassurance for Qui-Gon as his Master turned back to look at him. "Have a safe journey, Masters," he said in farewell.

A sudden expression of regret flickered across Qui-Gon's face, and for a few moments Obi-Wan dared to believe that he might have reconsidered his decision to undertake the mission; however, whatever doubts that had arisen apparently subsided, and Qui-Gon stepped out into the hallway.

"I'll contact you soon, Padawan," he called, then hurried away with Ruya, who hesitated long enough to direct a questioning glance in Obi-Wan's direction, his eyes narrowing almost indiscernibly, and the apprentice could have sworn he felt the briefest of touches against his mind, but the sensation disappeared before he could fully discern it.

Obi-Wan watched his Master's companion until the Toorkan moved out of sight and the door shut automatically with a quiet hiss that seemed deafening in the abrupt silence of the room. Sighing, Obi-Wan dropped into the nearest chair and hugged his knees to his chest, shivering as nausea roiled through him once more yet unable to find the strength to return to bed or the 'fresher. Instead, he slumped further into the chair and drifted into an uneasy slumber, haunted by monotonous, overbearing darkness.

* * *

**tbc...**


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

Gone From Danger - Part 2/?

* * *

Ruya Sansaro crossed the cramped section of the small diplomatic shuttle that served as the main cabin and took a seat opposite Qui-Gon, clasping a cup of Boleavan tea in both hands and watching the other man with a mixture of concern and amusement. Almost the instant the two of them had boarded the craft, his friend had become preoccupied; now, several hours into their journey, he had taken to staring vacantly at a cup balanced on one knee, its contents cooling rapidly, while his right hand scratched absently along his thigh, incidentally the same place where he had taken a blaster shot a few months ago.

The shuttle's destination was Banis, a designated "neutral planet", where the Jedi were to mediate peace-talks between two estranged races, the Kalriki and the Liscerin, and provide official sanction for any reconciliation between them. It was a task that should have been relatively straightforward, and their presence might not have been needed at the negotiations were it not for the presence of a Kalrikian isolationist group, the Kaatuu, which objected vehemently to the negotiations and had threatened retaliation on any ambassadors that the Senate might send. Ruya was acutely aware that he and Qui-Gon would have to formulate a plan to deal with the Kaatuu's threat should it be acted upon, but he also realised that there was a slightly more pressing matter at hand and turned his attention on his companion.

"Qui?" Ruya probed, leaning across and retrieving the cup from its perch on the Jedi's knee, setting it down safely on the low table between them.

Qui-Gon continued to stare at the spot where the cup had been for a long moment, then blinked slowly and looked up. "Hmm?"

"Is your leg bothering you?" Ruya inquired, indicating the offending limb with a small dip of his head.

Qui-Gon glanced down and realised, with a fair amount of chagrin, that he was unconsciously massaging the area of recently healed flesh. "No, not really," he answered hastily, and his hand immediately dropped away.

"I don't suppose anything _else_ is bothering you?" The Toorkan raised an eyebrow in a lopsided frown, dissuading any attempts at half-truths.

"I'm worried about Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon admitted with a sigh. "What happened on Dareela, including this," and he tapped his thigh with a finger, "has affected him badly. He's become apprehensive to the point of fearful at times, and we haven't even ventured outside the Temple together yet."

"That's to be expected," Ruya observed, sitting back. "I think we forget at times that even as Jedi our tolerance isn't limitless."

"Still, I've never seen Obi-Wan react like this. Something besides that attack took place on Dareela, I'm certain of it, but he won't tell me about it." Qui-Gon rubbed his face wearily and settled back into the padding of the chair. "I don't know how to help him."

"Perhaps we could come to a solution between us, if you're willing to discuss the matter," Ruya suggested as he sipped his tea, inhaling the scented steam that rose from the scalding liquid before placing the cup on the table.

Qui-Gon sat forward hesitantly, unsure of where to begin or how much to reveal to one of his closest friends. "I almost lost him, Ru'," he said quietly, staring at his hands, which were now clenched together, fingers interlocked.

"Force, Qui, I'm sorry." Ruya regarded the other Master with sympathy. "I assumed Obi-Wan's injuries during the attack had been minor."

"It wasn't a result of the attack," Qui-Gon responded quickly, his eyes darting up to meet the Toorkan's.

"No?" Ruya prompted, surprised.

"It was later, after I'd spent a week in a Dareelan hospital." Qui-Gon's focus became introspective, lost in memory, and Ruya knew better than to disturb him. "Obi-Wan must have slipped out while I was asleep and went to the hospital garden to meditate," he continued distractedly. "I saw him through the window of the room the healers had put me in. He looked weak and pale, like the life had been bleached out of him, and his Force signature was scattered..._fading_." He paused, momentarily caught in the horror he'd felt when he'd sensed Obi-Wan slipping away. "By the time I got to him, he had collapsed, but he was conscious and his signature had returned to normal. At the time, I thought he had simply exhausted himself and drifted too deep into meditation. Now, though…"

He paused to quieten the emotions that had returned with the memory, then removed an object from the belt around his waist, placing it on the table to allow Ruya to examine it. The object was a small crystal, its fragile, elegant facets terribly disfigured by deep fractures and blooming shadows which indicated combustion of some sort.

"What is it?" Ruya asked, a curious frown creasing his expression.

"Obi-Wan's meditation stone. It was a gift from the High Priestess of Lamari. Her people use stones like this to channel the Force." Qui-Gon retrieved the crystal and studied it, turning it in the palm of his hand carefully as though it might disintegrate with the lightest touch.

Ruya paused. "I assume that's not a result of normal meditation," he ventured carefully, watching his friend's face intently.

Qui-Gon shook his head. "Obi-Wan was using this on Dareela," he explained. "Whatever took place in that garden and caused him to collapse also created this damage." He hesitated before continuing reluctantly. "As far as I've been able to find out, only Dark Side channelling has been known to taint a Lamari stone."

"But surely Obi-Wan couldn't be responsible for _that_," Ruya protested, nodding at the crystal. "Unless you believe…"

Qui-Gon bowed his head, desperately trying to hide his consternation, the cursed _doubts_ he had managed to conceal from his Padawan, but the more experienced Master could immediately sense his conflict through the Force.

"Oh, Qui, no," Ruya breathed, rubbing his forehead in dismay. "You know Obi-Wan is stronger than that! You _know_ he wouldn't give in to his anger over the attack!"

"Of course I do!" Qui-Gon barked harshly, his uncertainty abandoned instantly. "My Padawan's integrity is not an issue, Ru'!"

"My apologies," Ruya amended at once, startled by the other Jedi's intensity. "I didn't think…"

"No, you didn't," Qui-Gon stated bitterly. "My faith in Obi-Wan is absolute. However, I don't know that he couldn't become a conduit himself, as this stone is." His fingers closed into a tight fist around the crystal he still held. "Obi-Wan might have unknowingly, or unwillingly, channelled the Dark Side while he was meditating, because he used the stone to relieve his emotions, and his guilt, over my injury."

Ruya was silent for a few seconds, nodding slowly. "Do you believe that is why Obi-Wan isn't forthcoming on the subject?" he asked cautiously. "That he's aware, at some level, of having channelled?"

"I don't know," Qui-Gon admitted. "He's been reluctant to talk about Dareela at all, and I haven't pushed." He looked at the crystal again, pulling thoughtfully at his beard as he studied it. "He _has_ been a little withdrawn, though."

"What about this High Priestess? Have you consulted her?"

"She's dead," Qui-Gon replied, slumping back into his seat with a sigh. His voice carrying an unmistakable note of grief. "When I tried to contact her on Lamari after Obi-Wan and I returned from Dareela, I was informed that she had succumbed to a brain haemorrhage only hours beforehand. She was the last Priestess of an archaic religion that focused on the Lamari stones – there are no successors."

Ruya cocked his head curiously. "Her death appears rather convenient, don't you think?" he remarked. "It's a little strange that the only person who could reliably confirm if there was a problem with Obi-Wan's stone unexpectedly passed away not long after the stone was damaged."

"You think the Priestess was murdered?" Qui-Gon stared at his companion, his expression wavering between disbelief and dawning comprehension.

" Perhaps. I'm merely speculating, but…" The Toorkan lifted an eyebrow suggestively.

"It would imply that whatever occurred on Dareela was also intentional," Qui-Gon finished. "That someone was trying to destroy the stone or…" Qui-Gon's face paled. "Or use the stone to hurt _Obi-Wan_."

"It might just be a harmless coincidence," Ruya reminded him, trying to reassure the anxious Master.

"And what if it's not? What if Obi-Wan is in real danger?" Qui-Gon rose and began to move to the cockpit. "I'll have the pilot return us to the Temple immediately."

"Qui, stop!" Ruya ordered, gaining his feet and catching his friend by the arm. "We can't go back now - the negotiations on Banis won't hold for long without our attendance. They could collapse completely by the time the Council despatches replacements!"

"My Padawan's safety is paramount!" Qui-Gon objected, his voice rising dangerously as he extricated himself from Ruya's grasp, but the Toorkan stepped around him and placed a hand on his chest.

"I know you want to protect Obi-Wan, but our suspicions are practically baseless." Ruya lowered his hand and fixed Qui-Gon with a compassionate look. "I already arranged for someone to keep an eye on him - my former Padawan, Noreif, agreed to tutor him while you are away. If you want, I can have him move into your quarters until you return, but there really is nothing more you can do. It's too late to abandon this mission now!"

At that, the strength seemed to leave Qui-Gon's frame: his shoulders slumped and he swayed back onto his heels slightly before turning away and dropping heavily into the chair again, his elbows resting on his knees and his face in his hands. Concerned by the abrupt mood swing, Ruya crouched by the chair; sensing his presence, Qui-Gon lifted his head and stared bleakly at the Toorkan.

"He was frantic, Ru'," he whispered. "I thought he was just afraid that I would be involved in another attack, but what if he had sensed that something was wrong? What if he was worried for himself, too? And the way he's been acting since Dareela… Force, how could I leave him?"

Sighing, Ruya touched his friend's shoulder. "It was a difficult mission, for him more than you. You couldn't have known his behaviour might be caused by something like _this_." He straightened and made his way to the comm unit. "I'm going to request that the Council replace you on this mission," he said quietly, activating the unit and entering the appropriate code sequences that would provide a direct link to one of the Council members.

Qui-Gon looked up in confusion. "I thought it wasn't possible to turn back."

"It's not," Ruya confirmed. "We have to continue on to Banis and assist the negotiations - an entire sector could be affected depending on our arrival. However, I can have another Knight sent to Banis, and he can assume your role in the proceedings while you return to Coruscant." He glanced round apologetically. "I'm sorry Qui, there's no other way."

"It's enough," Qui-Gon responded, smiling gratefully. "Thank you, my friend."

"If it was Noreif, I would be acting exactly the same way."

Ruya looked back at the comm unit as the connections were finally made and a questioning voice sounded, followed by a miniature holo of Mace Windu. As he began to explain the situation, Qui-Gon closed his eyes and hoped desperately that he could get back to Obi-Wan in time, regardless of whether or not the theory he and Ruya had formed was proven wrong.

* * *

**tbc...**


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry about the long delay, but (finally) here's part 3 – enjoy!!

* * *

Gone From Danger – Part 3/?

* * *

In the late hours of the morning, Obi-Wan knelt by one of the larger, tiered pools in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, his chin supported on folded arms that rested against the cool marble rim of the fountain, gentle mist dampening his face. After no more than an hour or two of restless sleep, he had fled the almost foreboding, oppressive atmosphere in the quarters that the nightmares had created, and wandered the hallways, eventually alighting in one of his favourite meditation spots. Here, at last, he had managed to achieve a modicum of calm from the quiet, soothing burble of water agitated into perpetual motion by the fall of spray and denser droplets.

"They're only dreams," he muttered softly, tracing the patterns created by dark veins through the marble with his fingertips, then lifting his gaze to watch a tall, slender plant nearby as its fanned leaves trembled, reacting to the vibrations in the air caused by the force of falling water. The single flower that crested the plant bobbed downward, almost nodding in agreement with his words. "Why can't I stop them?"

Movement across the expansive room drew his attention and he glanced up to see a young woman strolling amongst the fountains and numerous plants, oblivious to his presence. Her dark hair was knotted in a functional bun, disguising its length, but the lone braid draping over her right shoulder, hanging to her midsection, betrayed her status at once: a Padawan Learner, several years older than Obi-Wan and quite likely approaching Knighthood. Sighing softly, he watched her without moving, noting the content expression on her face and the confidence in her bearing, and felt an unexpected twinge of regret; he too had been so self-assured, possessed by an enthusiasm that stemmed from the knowledge that all was well within his immediate world. When had that escaped him?

The other Padawan passed out of his view, disappearing behind an elevated

aqueduct that supported a number of smaller, overlapping fountains, their mists wafting through the air or condensing into a film over the aqueduct's sloping surfaces. Obi-Wan's gaze returned to the pool before him, staring listlessly at his own disturbed reflection as he focused on his mental turmoil once more. The affair on Dareela had certainly contributed to his current disillusionment with life in general, but those events could not be exclusively responsible. There had been other instances where Qui-Gon had been placed in mortal danger and recovered, yet none of these had reduced him to such a state of encompassing disquiet, and he doubted that he was experiencing a cumulative effect of past events.

So what was the cause then? Perhaps it was a side-affect of his prolonged connection with the meditation stone, the imprints of some other poor creature's, or creatures', suffering that he had absorbed during his exposure on Dareela to the Living Force which were only now starting to surface in the shape of vivid dreams, leaving him with an even greater impression of how much misery still remained in the galaxy.

Obi-Wan moved one arm slightly and dipped his hand into the pool, trailing his fingers aimlessly through the water, his eyes half-closing as exhaustion caught up with him, but the thought of impending nightmares kept him from sleep. _I can't keep this up much longer_, he noted tiredly, lifting his hand out of the water and staring at it idly, watching his fingers tremble.

Even contemplating movement was beyond him, and he slowly tucked his arm back under his chin, allowing his eyes to close completely while he nestled his face into the crook of his elbow, the demands made by his body for rest easing his mind into idleness. In that state of drowsiness, not quite asleep, his unconscious conjured happier, comforting memories, many including Qui-Gon; however, he kept returning to one memory in particular, from his time spent with High Priestess Sashri on Lamari:

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Obi-Wan nodded, settling onto the grass beside the Priestess and gazing out over the lake, watching the clusters of nescra-blossom trees quiver in a warm breeze, dropping petals of numerous, pale shades to float on the still water. "It's lovely," he responded wistfully, leaning back on braced arms.

He knew that he wasn't seeing it as she was, or as Qui-Gon would – for him, the beauty of nature lay simply in aesthetics, while Sashri's view was enriched by her sense of the Living Force. It wasn't that she was any more adept than he; Sashri's control of the Force was rudimentary, the extent of her knowledge limited to the meditation stones and their use, nothing more. Neither was it that he was impervious to the Living Force – he was constantly aware of other life forms, and maintained the ability to draw support from the Living Force when required. Rather, he tended to automatically screen out the Force-borne perceptions that weren't instantly relevant, such as the plant life around him now, a natural instinct that had been ingrained in him from childhood as his sensitivity to the Unifying Force grew. Out of necessity, though, he chose to remain receptive to sentient life, if only as a precaution to avoid possible danger.

Hearing the regret in his voice, Sashri turned her head and smiled. "Obi-Wan, you have been wonderful company, and an exceptional student. I feel I must give you something in return."

"Please, Priestess, that's not necessary," Obi-Wan protested, meeting her gaze, and once again found a wisdom there that he had only ever seen in Master Yoda's eyes.

"I insist." Sashri reached down and removed a pouch that hung securely from her waist, placing it on the grass between them and plucking deftly at the cord that kept it closed. The folds of material fell open to reveal a crystal – one of the meditation stones he had spent the past week learning about.

Obi-Wan stared at it in awe. "I-I can't accept this!" he stammered, looking up at Sashri, who pushed the pouch toward him.

"Of course you can, child," she reassured, chuckling lightly. "Consider it a diplomatic gift from the people of Lamari to the Jedi ambassadors, if you must, but it is yours." She leaned forward, golden eyes shining in delight. "Now, would you like me to help you practise using it?"

Obi-Wan nodded enthusiastically and they knelt together, the Padawan picking the crystal up when Sashri instructed him to and cupping his hands around it, unable to suppress an excited smile as she closed her own hands around his. He had done this once before, a few days ago, and with Sashri's help had managed to hold a connection with the stone for several minutes, enough to discover the relationship between the meditation stones and the Living Force.

There was a slight gathering of the Force now, focused upon the crystal, and despite his previous experience Obi-Wan flinched in surprise as he felt the tendril of Force magnified and directed into his body. His immediate response was to pull away, but Sashri's grip tightened and kept him in place, her voice low and soothing as she warned him to remain calm, and he quickly adjusted to the sensation.

Then, quite unexpectedly, she released his hands and her control of the stone ceased; the energy pulsing through the crystal wavered in response, growing unstable, and Obi-Wan was so startled by Sashri's actions that he was unable to retain the Force levels building inside him and promptly expelled them in a reflexive Force push that shook the trees around them, causing a blizzard of blossom petals to shower down around them.

Sashri sat back and lifted her face into the billowing cloud of petals, laughing as they caught in her greying hair. "A snowstorm in summer!" she remarked, shaking her head. "Do you feel them, Obi-Wan? Every petal has its own place within the universe, just as much as every person."

Obi-Wan gazed up in astonishment, the stone still clutched in his hands, his connection to it tenuous but intact, and through it he _could_ feel the petals in the Living Force, shifting, luminous reflections and echoes of each other, every signature unique yet part of a greater whole, filling his mind with light and joy…

_There was no darkness then, Obi-Wan thought sadly, rousing from his reverie but keeping his eyes shut, restraining the tears that the memory had caused. Now, Sashri's wisdom and inner grace had been lost forever, and shadows were consuming him, a darkness made that much more terrible because it wasn't the Dark Side – at least, not as he'd come to know it in the past. How had things gone so wrong?_

Abruptly, the sound of footsteps and hushed voices close by disturbed his thoughts and he tensed, listening intently, although he couldn't find the energy to look and see who it was.

"Is he all right? " a soft female voice asked.

A male voice answered her. "I hope so." His words were at once relieved and worried. "Thank you for helping me, Padawan."

"I was glad to be of service, Knight Leksalis. Good morning."

The footfalls, which had slowed, paused momentarily before resuming, although the lighter step of the female now moved away, while the male appeared to be approaching Obi-Wan; there was the rustle of a robe beside him, and he felt the touch of fingers against his cheek, accompanied by the same male voice calling his name, and he stirred reluctantly, looking up into a pair of disconcertingly black eyes that gazed back at him anxiously.

Obi-Wan recognised the man crouched next to him as Noreif Leksalis, a Knight perhaps ten years older than himself and the former Padawan of Ruya Sansaro. Despite the soft glow of light in the room, his skin was almost translucent in its paleness, and a shock of silver hair, each lock twisted tightly and poking out at jagged angles, lent a demented look to the hair's owner, contradicting his serene if concerned expression.

Moaning slightly, Obi-Wan pushed himself away from the fountain's edge, rocking back onto his heels and bowing his head to Noreif. To his surprise, he felt the Knight's fingertips brush his forehead, his palm settling there for a few moments before falling away, and Obi-Wan lifted his head again, frowning uncertainly.

"You're exhausted, poor soul," Noreif remarked sympathetically, smiling gently at him. "Let's get you to the transport and settled in, hmm?"

"Transport?" Obi-Wan stared at the older Jedi in bewilderment, his thoughts slightly clouded with still-fresh memories.

Noreif nodded, his smile faltering. "It seems that your Master's mission has fallen into…difficulties."

His heart pounding, the memory of Lamari instantly fading and his mind clearing, Obi-Wan clutched at Noreif's sleeve in panic, startling the Knight. "What's happened? Is he all right?" he blurted.

"Oh, I'm quite certain he is," Noreif reassured. "However, Ruya contacted the Council a few hours ago and requested that Qui-Gon be replaced, apparently due to 'irresolvable mental conflict' - even Mace Windu himself was sufficiently concerned by this report to accept his request."

Despite his anguish at the news, Obi-Wan couldn't help a flicker of relief. "Does that mean Master Qui-Gon is returning to the Temple, Knight Leksalis?" he asked, shielding his eagerness from his voice; at Noreif's nod, though, he couldn't suppress his confusion. "Then why am I being called away? Wouldn't I be of more use if I remained here?"

"Due to the rather, ah, _untimely_ nature of your Master's departure, Ruya was the one to arrange a temporary guardian and appointed me. However, the Council believes that I am the most suitable replacement for Qui-Gon, since I have experience with Ruya, which means I have to depart now, and I'm taking you with me."

Obi-Wan began to ask for further explanation, but found himself suddenly overcome by the thought of having to leave; while the Temple had become increasingly constrictive over the past two months, its tranquillity tainted by the darkness of his nightmares, it also offered safety and the reassurance of familiar surroundings. Taken aback by the fierceness of his own reaction, it took him several moments to realise that Noreif was peering at him in concern.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, silently berating himself. "I was distracted."

"Like Master, like Apprentice," Noreif observed with a chuckle. "Master Yoda spoke to me privately after I was briefed by the Council," he continued. "It was his decision that you come with me – he believes that Qui-Gon is also distracted, and that _you_ are the distraction. In other words, your Master is too worried about you to carry out his mission."

_The dreams…he knows? Obi-Wan felt a pang of guilt at the knowledge that he was the cause of Qui-Gon's consternation. "Does Master Qui-Gon know I'm coming?"_

Noreif hesitated. "Yoda thought it best that he not be told, since it would only be the source of further agitation. The last thing Qui-Gon would want is for you to be heading into a potentially dangerous situation, but Yoda is adamant that you accompany me." The Knight smiled, clasping Obi-Wan's shoulder. "Well, we'd better get going. The sooner we get there, the better for all parties concerned."

Both Jedi stood, Obi-Wan a little less easily than Noreif due to weariness, and made their way out of the room, heading for the Temple hangar and the awaiting transport. As they passed out into the hallway, Obi-Wan paused and looked back at the Room of a Thousand Fountains, savouring the calm there and railing against the shadows that were already rising inside him, trying to prevent himself from being cast further into the darkness that had already taken root in his mind. Gathering himself, he hurried after Noreif, wondering if there was any hope left for him in the universe.

* * *

**tbc…**


	4. Chapter 4

Once again, sorry for the delay, but I've made this a long part to keep you folks happy! Hope you like it!

* * *

Gone From Danger - Part 4/?

* * *

"Obi-Wan? Wake up, Obi-Wan, we've arrived."

In the small, darkened quarters normally reserved for crew, Obi-Wan half-woke from a rare period of dreamless sleep and turned his head toward the sound of movement beside his sleep couch. The lights activated at a low level, warming the room with a dim glow, and Obi-Wan turned a groggy, stupefied gaze in Noreif's direction.

"I'm sorry I had to wake you, but you need to get up," Noreif explained, already walking away from the sleep couch. "We will be landing on Banis shortly. You can join me on the bridge as soon as you're ready, all right?"

Obi-Wan rolled onto his side and drew an elbow underneath his body, pushing himself up with a weary moan. A faint, sheepish smile turned the corners of his mouth upon realising that Noreif had heard the noise, looking back at him with raised eyebrows and chuckling before striding away down the narrow corridor, the door sealing after his departure.

Noreif slipped into the shuttle's cramped bridge and settled into the pilot's chair, taking the small ship out of hyperspace and watching with relief as the shifting starlines that streaked past the viewports diminished into single, identifiable points of light and Banis coalesced directly ahead. In relation to the system's sun, the transport had dropped back into normal space behind the planet and was cast in its shadow, limiting Noreif's initial view of the neutral world.

The journey to Banis had been impossibly long, one that Noreif had spent watching over his young charge with mounting worry and growing progressively more anxious to reach Qui-Gon. During the transport's passage through hyperspace, Obi-Wan had slept erratically, kept from any real rest by dreams that obviously terrified him, and despite his continued reassurances, Noreif couldn't help but feel that something wasn't right, something that went past the younger Jedi's physical fatigue. However, the deeper level of sleep that Obi-Wan had eventually succumbed to over the past few hours had troubled Noreif more than the Padawan's previous restlessness. It had seemed too sudden a transition to be natural, perhaps something more like a Force inducement.

Noreif sighed and rubbed his forehead, banishing his apprehension; once he touched down on Banis, Obi-Wan would no longer be his concern, although there was no doubt in his mind that the boy's plight would remain in his thoughts. For once, he would be grateful for the political intricacies that awaited him on the planet, tedious as they might later prove to be – he needed just such a distraction if only to keep him from getting further involved.

At that moment, as Noreif manoeuvred the shuttle onto a course that would take it into orbit above the appropriate spaceport prior to descent, the system's sun emerged from behind the curve of the planet, dazzling him and glinting on three objects slightly to port, and it wasn't until he had piloted the shuttle closer that he spotted the trio of starfighters approaching.

He reached out to activate the comm unit, assuming that Banis had despatched an escort to meet them, but a Force-carried warning halted him and he wrenched the transport's controls, twisting the comparatively sluggish craft down and away to avoid a hail of laser blasts from the starfighters. Shocked by the aggressive actions, Noreif stabbed at the comm-unit.

"Attacking ships, discontinue immediately! This is an unarmed Republic shuttle carrying Jedi ambassadors on a diplomatic mission!" he called urgently, swinging the transport back toward Banis.

"We do not recognise your immunity here, _Jedi_," a harsh voice retorted over the speakers, and the response was emphasised by a furious onslaught of laser fire that Noreif struggled to evade.

The shuttle shuddered as several of the blasts penetrated its shields and struck home, grazing the craft's flanks without breaching the hull, but the cacophony of alarms that suddenly sounded in the confines of the bridge told of serious damage nonetheless, and the shuttle began to list drunkenly as its power died. Apparently unsatisfied with disabling the transport, the starfighters continued to fire upon it, intent on annihilating the ship and its passengers.

Through the viewports Banis loomed, tantalisingly close but now completely unreachable. A recognised neutral world, Banis had no manned defences, and therefore no starfighters – it relied solely on strictly controlled planetary shields, and Noreif cursed himself for not recalling this sooner. It would be pointless to request help from the planet, or from Ruya and Qui-Gon, whose transport had also been unarmed.

Then, as the bombardment of laser fire paused and the starfighters grouped themselves for a triumphant, if wanton, victory, looping around to face the shuttle head-on, the starfield around them appeared to warp and contort, and Noreif experienced a sickening heave in the Force that pulled at every cell in his body. Still sidling out from behind Banis, the sun's light flickered and dimmed fractionally. It was as though the universe was drawing a breath, stripping the very Force-matrix itself and siphoning its energy into one focal point, and for the first time in his life Noreif was terrified by the sheer power that surrounded him. His senses were swamped, his thoughts incoherent, and even with the knowledge from his Jedi training, he was unable to comprehend the events taking place.

The wrenching sensation lasted several seconds, lessening when the frightening accumulation of the Force reached some sort of apex, but there was no chance to regain any semblance of composure before the mass of power abruptly exploded in a maelstrom of energy that was unmistakably a crude Force-push; the three starfighters still poised to destroy the shuttle caught the brunt of an invisible shockwave and were flung away, careening toward the planet and certain death upon contact with the planetary shield.

Breathing heavily and clutching the transport's controls with shaking hands, Noreif half-expected the craft to be torn apart in the raging, uncontrolled torrent, which was already beginning to disperse. However, the transport was barely affected, propelled by the momentum of the Force-push yet steadied by the barest of touches, leaving them drifting gently toward Banis. Noreif slumped in his seat, sure that they were out of danger for the moment, and quickly regained order over his rampant thoughts, calming himself enough to make sense of a negligent tendril of Force that nudged his mind, quite detached from the diffusing energy outside the ship.

_Obi-Wan!_

* * *

Banis' major spaceport lay on the outskirts of the planet's capital city, Sortis, and it was here that Qui-Gon and Ruya awaited the arrival of Qui-Gon's replacement. Both Masters were on edge after being informed that the Republic transport had been attacked by Kaatuu starfighters, who had obviously chosen to act upon their previous threat. According to what they had been told, the only casualties in the incident were the Kaatuu rebels after their ships had collided with the defence shield, but the Republic shuttle had been severely damaged and had to be tractored in. However, what had unsettled the Jedi was a titanic surge in the Force that they had detected just as they had arrived at the spaceport several minutes ago, a disturbance so intense that it had darkened the morning light outside.

Qui-Gon paced the small reception area that he and Ruya had been ushered into when word of the attack came; the aide who had attended them had reassured them that the substitute Knight, whose name was still unknown, would join them as soon as he, or she, landed safely. Out of courtesy, if nothing else, he was required to remain on Banis until the other Jedi arrived before leaving for Coruscant, and despite his concern over the present situation the delay irked him.

"Qui."

He turned to Ruya, expecting an amused reproach from his friend, but was met by an apprehensive expression. "What is it?"

"Noreif is here," the Toorkan said softly, glancing toward the door.

"_Here?_ You told me he would watch over Obi-Wan!"

"I think he still is."

For long moments, Qui-Gon remained silent, staring at the other Master. "Obi-Wan is here as well," he murmured in dawning realisation. Now that his attention was focused in that direction, he could sense his Padawan's Force signature, but it was so badly distorted that it was no wonder he hadn't recognised it before.

As if he needed confirmation, the door hissed open and two robed figures entered; Noreif had a hand on Obi-Wan's back, steadying the younger Jedi, who seemed disoriented and barely capable of keeping his feet. However, before they had taken more than a few steps into the room, Obi-Wan drew away from Noreif's touch and stumbled toward his Master, one hand outstretched.

"Qui-Gon, catch him!" Noreif cried in alarm, seeing the Padawan's already precarious balance falter further, but by the time he voiced the warning, Qui-Gon had reached Obi-Wan's side and had an arm about him, guiding him toward the chairs.

"What happened?" Ruya asked, his violet eyes intense as he surreptitiously checked Noreif over. The Knight noticed the scrutiny and smiled faintly, dipping his head toward Ruya in reassurance. "I assume it concerns the disturbance in the Force we sensed?"

Noreif nodded, his face sobering. "I'm not certain how he accomplished it, but that disturbance you felt was Obi-Wan – somehow, he managed to push our attackers away from us. He believes that much himself."

"That's impossible!" Qui-Gon protested from where he sat with his Padawan; Obi-Wan was stretched out on the chairs beside him, his head resting on Qui-Gon's thigh, too worn out to resist sleep. "Not even a Master could control the amount of power it would involve to generate a Force-push of that magnitude."

"Not unaided, perhaps," Noreif said quietly, then reached into his robe and produced a holo-crystal. "Master Windu asked me to activate this when I got here. It contains instructions for all of us, and an explanation of the Council's reasons for dispatching Obi-Wan and myself."

Qui-Gon hesitated, staring at the crystal. If what Noreif had said was true – that Obi-Wan had caused the disturbance earlier – it was reasonable that at least one of the conclusions he and Ruya had come to on their way here had been right: like his ruined meditation stone, Obi-Wan had somehow become a Force-conduit.

His gaze dropped to his Padawan's sleeping face, still drawn and pallid from lack of rest, and a deep sorrow welled inside him. For the Council to send him here in this condition rather than wait for Qui-Gon's return implied that the boy's situation was dire indeed.

"Qui? Are you all right?" Ruya ventured, tapping his arm lightly.

"I'm fine." Qui-Gon looked up at Noreif. "Activate it."

"Do you want to wake Obi-Wan?" Ruya asked as Noreif removed a holoprojector from his belt and slotted the crystal into it.

Qui-Gon shook his head. "I'd rather let him sleep. He can see the recording later."

At that point, the holo-crystal began to run, and all attention turned to the miniature hologram of Mace Windu that appeared, his dark face bearing its customary sombre expression, but there was a grief in his eyes that even the grainy holo-image could not mask.

"I feel I must apologise, personally and on behalf of the entire Council, to all of you, and to Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan in particular," Mace began, clasping his hands and shifting on his feet. "It is to the two of you that the majority of this recording is directed. During the past few months, it has been necessary to conceal specific information from you for your own protection. However, events have taken place that are outside our control, and it has become necessary to involve you."

The imposing Master paused, gathering his thoughts, and continued. "We have learned that the Lamarin High Priestess Sashri lives – reports of her death were fabricated by the government of Lamari, to prevent us from discovering the true nature of your mission to the planet a half-year ago.

"Despite these attempts at deception, Priestess Sashri succeeded in contacting the Council. It would seem that the Lamari have become dangerously ambitious regarding their sensitivity to the Force – their desire for Force-borne power has prompted them to develop a neural device, based on the principles of the planet's meditation stones, that will increase an individual's command of the Force. This device, an organic neural web as they have named it, is designed to grow and spread over a period of time, eventually permeating the brain and nervous system."

Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan's head move and glanced down, realising with a silent sigh that his Padawan had woken after only a few minutes. His face was turned slightly away, tired eyes focused on Mace Windu's image, and he didn't seem to register Qui-Gon's gaze. Gently, the older Jedi placed a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder, and almost at once one of the boy's hands reached up and back, grasping his fingers. Qui-Gon smiled and looked at the hologram once more.

"What is of more concern to us is that a prototype of this web has already been created…and implanted."

Ruya and Noreif, holding the holoprojector, exchanged worried looks, obviously disturbed by the news; even in the hands of a relatively benevolent race like the Lamari, Force-augmenting technology was potentially disastrous.

"Priestess Sashri carried out the procedure, without the patient's consent or knowledge, and informed the Council of the identity of the recipient of the prototype web." Mace hesitated again, and his eyes closed. "Obi-Wan Kenobi."

"No," Qui-Gon gasped, his voice shaking, and beneath his hand Obi-Wan's body jerked in shock.

Mace Windu's recording went on. "I know this is hard to accept, and I wish there was more time to explain, but it is crucial that Obi-Wan be taken to a secure location. The Lamarin government had no part in the implantation and were furious to learn that the prototype had been smuggled off Lamari: they are demanding its return immediately. We have reason to believe that there are bounty hunters involved, and Coruscant is no longer safe for Obi-Wan. Protection has been arranged for him, and a ship is on its way to take both Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan to a planet under our control. Ruya and Noreif must remain on Banis to dissuade any suspicion for as long as possible." Mace bowed his head. "Once again, I am sorry."

Abruptly, the image flickered off and the holoprojector became dormant, leaving the room in uncomfortable silence, broken seconds later by Obi-Wan as he released Qui-Gon's hand and rose unsteadily, moving to one of the broad windows that revealed a view of Sortis. Morning light was beginning to soften the stark silhouettes of the tall buildings forming the city, but Obi-Wan saw none of it.

"I knew it," he whispered, placing a palm against the window to steady himself. He looked round at the other Jedi, his expression sad yet composed, devoid of the fear that Qui-Gon now struggled with. "I felt something on Dareela that I couldn't understand. And what happened up there…" His face turned toward the window again, his gaze directed to the dawn sky. "I knew something was wrong inside me, something that I can't control."

"Padawan," Qui-Gon said, getting to his feet and approaching the boy. "What Sashri did to you cannot be irreversible. You'll be all right."

"No, Master," Obi-Wan responded softly. "I don't think I will be."

Qui-Gon stopped, struck by the conviction he heard in Obi-Wan's voice. From an early age, his Padawan had been strongly influenced by the Unifying Force, and his abilities had continued to grow since starting his apprenticeship with Qui-Gon, allowing him to sense future events with a degree of accuracy that the Jedi Master had come to respect. If the prototype web in Obi-Wan was functioning, the amplified awareness of the Force that it created could have made any visions much more potent.

"What have you seen?" he asked, touching Obi-Wan's arm.

"I've had nightmares. Most of them are only dreams, but a few felt _real_, like visions I've had in the past." Obi-Wan faced Qui-Gon, his eyes dim. "I have witnessed enough to know that, wherever we are being taken, I won't be safe there for long. Master, the future I've seen holds nothing but pain for me…perhaps even death before long, and that's a future that I don't want you to be part of."

"Oh, Obi-Wan." Reaching out, Qui-Gon pulled the boy into a hug, which Obi-Wan returned readily, each trying to relieve their concerns for the other. "Whatever happens, I will be with you – your pain _is_ my pain, and I won't let you face such a future alone."

"Thank you," Obi-Wan murmured, closing his eyes. In Qui-Gon's embrace, he could allow himself to believe that he could be saved, but deep inside he was already resigned to the fate that the Force had revealed to him. Not even Qui-Gon could defy the will of the Force, and despite his Master's comforting words, he knew he was destined to be alone when the end came. His only desire was to prevent the technology inside him from harming anyone else, as it ultimately would if the Lamari succeeded in implementing it, and if that meant his death then he would accept it. He had no other choice.

* * *

tbc...


	5. Chapter 5

Kinda long part ahead, guys – just a warning :D Okay, I've kept you long enough so…enjoy!! And thanks again for the fantastic feedback on this fic, you've all been terrific!

* * *

Gone From Danger - Part 5/?

* * *

Obi-Wan couldn't help staring as he walked down the tiny Republic shuttle's ramp with Qui-Gon, followed by the quiet female Knight, Tiperis, who had brought them to this nameless, secure planet. The location appeared idyllic: a large, ancient stone house, surrounded by sprawling, flowering trees; in the distance, tall mountains straddled the horizon, clouds gathered about them like shawls. Despite the tiny sun that glared overhead, a large, gibbous moon hung low in the lilac sky, framed perfectly between two peaks in the mountains.

It was the lake beside the house that caught him off-guard, stretching out before him like an echo of another place, its waters disturbed by a faint breeze, knots of silvery, delicate trees adorning the sandy banks. Similar, yet so crucially different – here, there was no Sashri.

A massive shadow flitted across the stretch of short grass between the shuttle and the house, startling Obi-Wan, and he looked upward to see a ponderous, bird-like creature gliding not far above, its vast, membranous wings translucent in the sunlight. The bird's narrow head turned lazily, studying them, and it let out a tremulous fluting call, dipped its wings and banked away.

As he watched it go, he felt a flicker of pain, brief but severe, deep within his head, where he knew the hub of the neural web lay temporarily dormant, prompting a gasp of surprise and bringing him up short. There had been nausea before, his body's reaction to the web's continued infiltration of his nervous system, but never pain, and the manifestation of that pain at the implant's very source could not be dismissed as coincidence.

"Padawan?" Qui-Gon eyed him worriedly.

Obi-Wan didn't reply at once, giving himself a cursory inspection to ensure that the web hadn't reactivated; now that he knew of its presence, Obi-Wan was acutely aware of the implant inside him and could easily trace the fine, branching network of material that wove through his body at a microscopic level. To his relief, it remained inert, and he turned to Qui-Gon with an evasive gesture. "I'm fine." He looked back at the view, cocking his head. "It's…pretty, don't you think?"

His Master's gaze lingered on him for a moment before moving away to take in the scenery. "Delightful," he answered quietly, the trace of a reluctant smile lessening his anxious frown. Had he not been so preoccupied with Obi-Wan's health, he would have relished the strong manifestations of the Living Force he sensed here and the peace of mind he might have found within them. However, considering the danger that his Padawan faced, he wouldn't allow himself even that small pleasure until the situation was resolved.

Halting by his side, Knight Tiperis drew a breath and sighed, enjoying the scent-burdened wind, then glanced at the two of them and continued toward the house; wordlessly, Obi-Wan trailed her a few steps behind, and Qui-Gon blinked in surprise as the boy instinctively balanced his gait to suit Tiperis', keeping pace with her without appearing rushed. The change was automatic enough to be almost undetectable, and he doubted the Knight noticed it – _he _had never observed it until now. It was clearly a sign of respect rather than a submissive action, for Obi-Wan easily held his own in the other Jedi's wake despite his comparative youth, carrying himself with dignity, although Qui-Gon could see that the quiet confidence his Padawan had gained over the years was absent.

The Master felt his throat tighten with unbidden grief. This was what the Order stood to lose, and what he himself could not bear to lose: an intelligent young man with the natural grace and assurance of a Knight, someone to be regarded not as a boy but an equal, in spite of how much he still had to learn.

Unnoticed, the fourth occupant of the shuttle, a willowy Jedi Healer known as Raeshin, strolled down the ramp, squinting in the sunlight. His simple tunics and pale tousled hair, together with an open, cheerful face and an expression that was perpetually bemused, misled an observer into assuming he was a man of no importance, while in truth, his skills as a Healer were unparalleled on Coruscant.

"Master Jinn?" he asked mildly, coming abreast of Qui-Gon at the bottom of the ramp, taking note of the direction of the other man's gaze when he didn't look at the Healer. "Ah. You fear for your apprentice."

Qui-Gon had no reply for the statement beyond a simple nod. _Fear_. Some Jedi would shy away from the word and the weight it carried within the Order – the impending threat of the Dark Side – but Qui-Gon had always believed that fear could counsel, especially at times when emotions were unavoidable. It offered none now yet, watching Obi-Wan, its presence was undeniable.

As if conscious of the appraisal, Obi-Wan slowed and turned, revealing a haggard face and dull, mildly questioning eyes, his despondency evident in the faint slump of his shoulders, unknowingly dispelling the aura around him. He tilted his head, and both Master and Healer were drawn forward in response to the unspoken query. Ahead of them, Tiperis was already on the stone veranda in front of the house, pushing the door open and peering inside.

The room beyond the doorway was large and airy, if decidedly austere in its lack of personal touch, although the ceiling appeared to be decorated. A few tall, ramrod-straight plants lurked in sunlit corners like silent sentries, their draping leaves drawn about them in a rather furtive manner. Tiperis entered, the soles of her boots tapping across the wooden floor, conscious of the other Jedi behind her as she lifted her face to study the odd grooves engraved into the ceiling, trying to find order in a mêlée of whorls and jarringly sharp angles. If there was a pattern to the chaos, she couldn't see it.

Obi-Wan joined her, staring upward, and for a moment she was struck by the pallor of his skin, realising for the first time how drawn the Padawan seemed. She had spoken to him on the shuttle, but she couldn't recall him looking as unwell as he did now; could he have deteriorated in such a short time?

"Light and dark," he said unexpectedly, and lifted a finger to sketch a spiral in the air, copying the example above them. "The Force that we touch, the Light, is something we can't predict or fully understand," he explained, and showed the spiral unravelling into an undulating curve, "but know regardless." His finger moved, pointing to one of the straight lines. "The Dark is alien to us, a power to balance against the Light – evil manifested, eternally unchanging." He traced the abrupt angle in the line. "Yet we often find it is as unpredictable as the Light."

Tiperis was rapt, unconsciously leaning close to the younger Jedi. "What else do you see?" she prompted, curious.

The Padawan frowned at the design on the ceiling, his finger still following the line. "The Dark can be a willing servant, but," another veering angle, "_it_ leads _you_." He paused at a point where the line intersected with another spiral, glancing at Tiperis and smiling shyly. "In the end, though, you can always find your way back to the Light," he finished, lowering his hand.

"Well said!" the Knight remarked with unashamed admiration, glancing from the ceiling to Obi-Wan. "I doubt a Master could have bettered that explanation."

"Thank you," Obi-Wan murmured, suddenly looking unsteady, and he put a hand to his temple. "I'm a little tired," he admitted to her alarmed expression, shifting as though to find better footing, then staggered and dropped to one knee, clutching his head in both hands now, obviously in pain.

Qui-Gon, who had been ascending a short flight of stairs opposite the door to inspect the building's upper levels, caught Obi-Wan's distress through the Force and hurried back down to his Padawan, kneeling beside him and calling out for Healer Raeshin. Weeping helplessly, Obi-Wan slumped into his Master's arms with a thin moan, curling against him in search of relief. The agony in his head robbed him of his voice, silencing any cries he might have made; his vision blurred, and Obi-Wan thought the pain might be taking his sight too, before realising that he was losing consciousness.

"_Raeshin!_" the Jedi Master roared, watching Obi-Wan's eyes unfocus and begin to close, his Padawan sagging in his grip. _Where is that blasted Healer?_ he thought frantically. _Force knows what that web is doing inside him!_ "Obi-Wan, stay with me!" Qui-Gon was barely aware of Tiperis' slim form darting away to retrieve the absent Healer. "Obi-Wan, please!"

The boy blinked sluggishly – only one eye remained open, and no more than partially so, while the other closed completely, but he was roused to full consciousness seconds later when a sensation akin to claustrophobia swept through him. His body reacted and his hand, fisted in Qui-Gon's tunic as he fought the pain, flexed and pressed into his Master's chest, the fingers curling into a familiar Force-push gesture.

Obi-Wan felt the web activating within him, countermanding his own belated attempts to prevent the push, responding to Qui-Gon's proximity much as it had with the Kaatuu fighters' attack…a _threat_. The summons of the Force was instantaneous, and the expulsion came a moment later, although with an immense, agonising effort he managed to reduce the power of the blow. Qui-Gon grunted in shock, knocked back into a half-sprawl, somehow holding onto his Padawan despite the push, then struggled into a sitting position; spent, Obi-Wan collapsed, distantly relieved when the pain in his head ebbed, the implant lapsing into quiescence once more.

Both were too stunned to move. Obi-Wan was left incoherent in the aftermath of overwhelming pain, huddling into Qui-Gon, his breaths emerging in shuddering gasps, his eyes wide and staring, fastened to a spot on the polished floor where sunlight and shadows danced through a broad window, a play of light and dark, more exhausted in body and spirit than he could ever remember feeling, yet sleep seemed farther from him now than ever before.

Fingers brushed demandingly across his cheek, capturing his attention and leading his gaze up to Qui-Gon's. "Obi-Wan," he urged in a tone that suggested he'd been calling for a while.

"It's stopped," Obi-Wan replied hesitantly. "I-I'm all right now." The words sounded hollow even to himself, and the frown that puckered Qui-Gon's forehead was evidence enough that the older Jedi was far from convinced.

"We'll let the Healer decide that, Padawan," he chided softly. _If he ever turns up_.

Obi-Wan pulled away slightly. "Master, I could have hurt you. This implant is dangerous…_I_ am dangerous." He tried to move further, but a combination of weakness and Qui-Gon's sharp words of "Stay put!" kept him in place.

"You are still my Padawan, Obi-Wan, no matter what anyone else has inflicted on you." He smiled and ran his hand through the boy's hair, letting his fingers settle near his right ear, just above the root of his braid, trying to reassure through voice and touch. "You are not dangerous," he whispered.

Obi-Wan lolled again, relaxing, and watched the light and shadows move on the floor with weary eyes. _Light and Dark_, he thought foggily, his expression forlorn. He heard the clatter of boots and Raeshin's voice, but didn't look up, aware of a haze creeping across his vision.

Darkness was consuming him, just as the implant was, and he was powerless against it – it was a different kind of evil he faced, quite separate from the influence of the Dark Side, one that he didn't know how to define or fight. Would it change him, once it had saturated his body and devoured his mind? He knew he was losing himself, that even in his heightened Force-awareness, caused by the Lamarin web, he had never been farther from the touch of the Force. It was still there, surrounding him as it always had and bringing a sense of normality, but he didn't dare reach out to it for fear of setting the implant off. He had come to terms with his fate, but the thought that the Force might be lost to him permanently frightened him more than the possibility of death.

Obi-Wan turned his face into Qui-Gon's tunic, oblivious of Raeshin when the Healer crouched beside him, remembering the words he had spoken to Tiperis. _You can always find your way back to the Light_. Was that true? What if he _couldn't _find his way back?

Obi-Wan felt a cool hand on his neck, a finger sliding along the carotid artery in the exposed side of his neck, and he flinched, looking round to see Raeshin, his sight so clouded that he barely recognised the Healer.

"I don't have the facilities to heal the kind of internal damage I'm sensing," the man was saying, shaking his head. "Even if I did, it would help little. That implant will kill him if its growth is not curbed soon, but I don't know how to do that."

"What _can_ you do?" Qui-Gon asked softly, subduing his panic.

"I can slow the bleeding and try to stabilise him, perhaps." Raeshin sighed. "There is enough bacta in my packs to heal the critical injuries, and a trance might stop the others from worsening. Neither will solve the problem, though."

"I understand." Qui-Gon's anguish was clear, and Obi-Wan started to speak, hoping to comfort his Master, then fell silent at a touch to his temple which was accompanied by a familiar Force suggestion, sinking into a doze that would shortly deepen into a healing trance.

Darkness claimed him a moment later, and the nightmares began again.

* * *

**tbc...**


	6. Chapter 6

It must be a record – I'm still shocked at how quickly I got this done. And it's a looong part too!! Must be the unbelievable feedback you guys have been giving, so this is thanks to you!

* * *

Gone From Danger - Part 6/?

* * *

The lake sighed, its waters disturbed by a faint breeze, and the fragile-looking trees rustled, their narrow trunks quite supple in contrast to their appearance. Qui-Gon, his clothing stained red in the waning light, craned his neck, watching gold and crimson gilded clouds trailing across the mauve sky overhead, the last light of sunset fading rapidly and drawing elongated shadows along the pale earth below the veranda. His fingers stroked lightly across the sun-warmed stone balustrade, its surface worn smooth with age, and he briefly wondered how many others had touched it, how many others had occupied the ominously silent building behind him.

Qui-Gon stared down at the charred meditation crystal that rested near his hand, catching the light and glinting dully. Because of the actions of the woman who had previously owned this small stone, his Padawan was in danger of losing his life; the moment she had decided to implant the neural web, she had effectively condemned Obi-Wan to death.

His gaze still fixed on the crystal, Qui-Gon rubbed the heel of his hand across his left temple, his thoughts straying back to the news they had received from the Council a few days ago, during a secure communication. Quite unexpectedly, Chancellor Valorum had brought the issue of the Lamarin neural web into debate in the Senate, and the voting on the matter had been unanimous: the web posed a threat to the Republic and to the Galaxy in general, and would not be returned to the Lamari.

However, because of the incident at Banis, it had been decided that as long as the implant remained inside him, allowing Obi-Wan anywhere near a populated planet was too dangerous. Qui-Gon could understand the reasons behind the ruling, but that didn't make it any easier to accept – it meant that Obi-Wan would be denied the resources needed to give him even a chance of surviving.

Fighting to subdue his emotions, Qui-Gon gripped the balustrade and bowed his head, strands of long hair hanging loose about his face after having pulled free of their tie earlier. His Padawan was dying, a fact which he desperately wanted to refute but could not. Raeshin had made every effort over the last five days to slow the implant's growth, to no avail; it had saturated the young Jedi's nervous system and continued to spread, now impeding major body functions, and disrupting his Force-signature so significantly that it was almost beyond recognition.

_He's dying, and there's nothing I can do about it. It was an admission that didn't come easily to Qui-Gon, and it certainly didn't sit well in his heart. Obi-Wan's fate was an injustice that his instincts demanded he challenge, but those accountable were unreachable and the threat was something he couldn't fight or appeal to. The time for action had come and gone long ago, when he had first noticed a change in Obi-Wan shortly after the attack on Dareela. He had done nothing, dismissing it as temporary trauma caused by the ferocity of the assault, and the guilt, the shame, from the thought that his apprentice had been suffering since then and he had not known tore at him relentlessly._

"I'm so sorry, Obi-Wan." He blinked at the sound of his own hushed voice, hoarse from the strain of the past few days and laden with misery, then released the balustrade and tucked the stray hair behind his ears. "Sorry" wouldn't change anything. It wasn't going to ease Obi-Wan's pain, or stop the device that was destroying him. Casting blame, on himself or on others, was not going to help either, and he was only wasting time by doing so.

His hands clenched into fists and beat out a quiet, haphazard rhythm against the stone as he calmed himself, letting his emotions recede to a manageable level. He stood a few moments longer, watching the silvery trees by the lake quiver, stark in the clustering shadows of dusk, before retreating into the house. He got as far as the front doorway when an audible tremor vibrated through the air, and Qui-Gon stopped, looking round to see the great bird that had passed over the Jedi when they first arrived. It had landed on the grass, balancing on slim, furred legs, quadruple-toed feet splayed on the ground, standing twice as tall as Qui-Gon, and its wings, expanded to their full length, were at least five times its height, lined around the edges with bristled feathers.

The bird cocked its head, regarding him warily, and Qui-Gon noticed one of its wings drooping; squinting, he spotted a neat puncture in the centre of the wing's membrane. Something in its stance beckoned to the Jedi Master and he descended the steps slowly, examining the injury as he moved closer, then froze. The wound was a perfect circle. _Artificial_. It had to have been caused by a weapon, a projectile one most likely, yet he knew that neither Tiperis nor Raeshin carried such a weapon, and the planet supported no sentient native species.

Stiffening, his hand strayed instinctively to his lightsaber…and came up with empty air. He was wearing just a sash around his waist, having left his belt inside along with his lightsaber. "Oh, Force," he whispered, and as though in answer a dark ripple through the Force brushed his mind in warning.

There was someone else here.

He had barely come to that conclusion when he heard a _thip_ of displaced air. A small object punched into his shoulder blade with enough force to penetrate the bone and spin him back to face the house, almost taking him off his feet in the process. A few metres away, the bird was startled into flight, fleeing from danger with a frightened, raucous call. Gasping in pain, Qui-Gon bolted toward the house, clutching his shoulder; a second projectile struck his hip, a third embedding itself in his thigh, and he stumbled, his knee buckling reflexively. By sheer coincidence, it was the leg that he had injured on Dareela, and through the pain Qui-Gon couldn't help a flare of annoyance. _Typical_.

Abruptly, a blaster discharged in the flowering trees that flanked the house's west-facing side, and the ground near his feet exploded in a puff of dust. Recovering his balance, Qui-Gon staggered up the steps onto the veranda – another blaster bolt bit into the outer side of the balustrade, destroying a fair chunk of the stone and peppering the fleeing Jedi's back with shrapnel. He made it inside, flinging the door shut behind him, but he knew it wouldn't hold under blaster fire.

"Tiperis!" he shouted, limping further into the room and minding to steer clear of the windows.

The female Jedi appeared from an adjoining room, staring at him in horror as she took in the blood seeping into his clothes. "What happened?"

"Bounty hunters," he said grimly.

* * *

Consciousness was a dizzying fusion of pain and uncertainty, one that he would rather have avoided completely, but returning to those terrible dreams, a few of which would inevitably prove to be premonitions, was even less appealing. He woke in degrees, languidly sifting through rattled thoughts and attempting to school them into harmony, forcing his mind to find logic in a clutter of mismatched sensations. His first realisation was that he was lying down, a bed judging from the yielding surface beneath him. The second was that there were a few presences nearby, strong Force-signatures that could only be Jedi – Qui-Gon, and two others that were familiar but he couldn't place.

"Are you sure you're up to this?" a female voice asked, concerned. "Those injuries –"

"I'll be fine." That was Qui-Gon.

His first deliberate breath was rewarded with a sharp rebuke from his lungs, causing his back to arch slightly, and he tasted a faint trace of blood in his throat; he was aware now of a burning in his head and an almost contradictory chill spreading through his chest and numbing his limbs. He half-turned onto his side, unknowingly wrinkling his nose at the uncomfortable feeling of bacta packs clustered around his ribs and clinging to his stomach.

"Obi-Wan!"

A hand clasped his shoulder, shaking him lightly, and the Padawan opened his eyes to a disarray of blurred shapes and a vague play of colours, watching a face come into partial focus beside him, and responded to his name with a guttural noise. "Nnn?"

The hand on his shoulder moved underneath him, lifting his upper body until Obi-Wan was sitting, and he groaned, resisting the support and trying to lie down again as the pain in his head worsened. He felt something drape around him – his robe – and his arms were thrust unceremoniously into its sleeves. "Padawan, can you hear me?"

Obi-Wan nodded reluctantly, his eyes drooping shut. The hand was back on his shoulder, squeezing insistently. "Obi-Wan, listen to me. Do you think you can walk?" He shook his head, forcing his eyes open when he heard his Master mutter a curse. "All right, Healer Raeshin will carry you, but you have to stay awake, understand?"

Without waiting for a reply, Qui-Gon picked Obi-Wan up and passed him to the waiting Healer, who held him carefully and stared anxiously at the other Jedi.

"How do we get past the bounty hunters?" he asked.

_Bounty hunters? Obi-Wan stirred in alarm, shifting in Raeshin's arms. Wasn't the planet supposed to be secure? How had bounty hunters found them?_

"Tiperis and I will deflect any fire aimed toward you – just keep running until you get to the ship," Qui-Gon replied. His gaze lowered to look at Obi-Wan, ashen and trembling, and his heart pounded with fear. The boy was nowhere near strong enough for this, his energy sapped by the growing implant inside him, and moving him would undoubtedly disturb or worsen his slowly healing internal injuries. However, the thought of what might happen to his Padawan should the bounty hunters succeed in capturing him worried him more.

Shaking off his concerns, Qui-Gon led the way downstairs, pausing to peer cautiously out of the window. "One of them was in the trees to the west," he said quietly, backing away and heading for the door. "I couldn't make out where the other one was shooting from, and it's likely that there are more than two. They might well have changed positions by now," he warned Tiperis, "so don't focus on the west area completely, or you might be caught off-guard."

Tiperis bristled slightly, then relaxed and nodded, letting her irritation pass. It wasn't worth reminding him that she was an experienced Knight and had already come to most of those conclusions herself. He was obviously used to relaying information in the form of orders, understandable considering he had a Padawan in his charge.

Both Knights drew their lightsabers and ignited them, his a brilliant green, hers a pulsating yellow; Qui-Gon rested his hand lightly on the old-fashioned door handle, taking a moment to manage the pain from his injuries, which he had hurriedly patched up with Raeshin's help. Glancing round, he saw the Healer standing behind Tiperis, looking tense but calm, and in his arms Obi-Wan struggled to stay awake.

"All right, let's go," Qui-Gon said, depressing the handle and standing back, allowing the door to swing open slowly. A second later, a blaster bolt impacted against it, disintegrating the upper half and blowing the lower section inward on its hinges. Qui-Gon bounded outside, motioning the Healer to follow him, and was down the steps and onto the grass before the next bolt came, from the west where one of the first bounty hunters had been. _They haven't moved_, he thought as he ran, slowing his pace when Raeshin lagged behind slightly, deflecting a volley of astoundingly accurate shots. He had hoped that the twilight would give them an advantage, but their lightsabers made them clear targets.

Extending his senses through the Force, he picked out seven bounty hunters in all – only four were in a position to shoot, the others hurrying round from the back of the house where they had waited in case the Jedi had tried to make an escape that way. Out of those four, one had yet to fire upon them, and Qui-Gon wondered distractedly what he or she was waiting for.

Tiperis, who had just cleared the veranda, was forced to pause as she dealt with a fierce barrage of projectiles and blaster bolts, and it was at that point that the bounty hunter Qui-Gon had been considering chose to fire, letting off a round of projectiles that caught Raeshin, momentarily unprotected, from behind. The Healer cried out and fell to his knees, blinded with pain, and Qui-Gon, distracted by Raeshin's cry, failed to notice an _eighth_ bounty hunter, who had escaped his attention, leap from the roof and land easily beside him, wielding her oversized blaster by the barrel. Taking advantage of the diversion, she clubbed the Jedi Master savagely across the head; he reacted in time to absorb some of the blow with an upraised arm, but the force of the contact knocked him senseless.

"Gotcha," she said with a merciless grin as he dropped, then turned on a sobbing Raeshin. "Give him to me!" she ordered, reversing her grip on the blaster and pointing it at the Healer.

"No!" Raeshin choked, desperately clutching Obi-Wan to him; behind him, Tiperis had repelled the onslaught of weapons fire and was racing toward them, lightsaber flicking about her to ward off the pot-shots the other bounty hunters were taking at her.

Before she could reach Raeshin, the last three bounty hunters arrived and all of them, with the exception of the woman threatening the Healer, converged on the Knight. Hopelessly outnumbered, it didn't take long for them to overpower her, and soon she lay sprawled on the ground, unconscious and bleeding from several wounds.

Raeshin was near collapse, swaying on his knees, but he stubbornly refused the bounty hunter's demands; Obi-Wan, barely aware of what was happening, cringed at the raised voices and dashed a hand across his eyes, trying to focus and clear his vision at once. Tired of the delay, the woman grabbed Obi-Wan's arm and yanked hard.

"I don't want to kill you, Jedi, but I will if you don't release this boy now!" she snarled, tapping the barrel of the blaster heavily against the Healer's head.

"Stop it!" Raeshin protested as she continued to pull at Obi-Wan. "He's injured!"

"All the more reason for you to let go," she retorted, aware of her companions approaching, one of the men holding Tiperis' lightsaber with a triumphant smile on his face. At last, she swung her blaster and struck him across the temple, stunning the Healer, and she tugged Obi-Wan from his limp grasp. "Foolish Jedi," she hissed, kicking Raeshin in the ribs as he sagged sideways onto the grass.

"That went well," the man that had taken the lightsaber remarked, smacking the dormant weapon into the palm of his other hand.

"Shut up," she growled, heaving her blaster at him, and he fumbled to catch it. She bent down and gathered Obi-Wan, who was in too much pain from the sudden movement to object, into her arms, looking at another of her team, a stocky female Lidregan with the pronounced cheekbones and impossibly long, thin fingers that hallmarked her race. "Deril, put the blasted thing on him already."

The Lidregan smiled sardonically and drew a flat metal device from the belt fastened around her hips. "Trust you to get nervous _after_ the fighting, Mek'Lee" she said, ignoring the dark look she received.

"Well, you just remember that we all might be killed if you don't put that on right," Mek'Lee snapped, jerking her head at the device as her colleague thumbed a sensor on it and pressed it against Obi-Wan's neck. There was a tiny sucking noise and the device sealed itself to the Jedi's skin, sprouting tiny hooks and pushing them into his flesh to affirm its formidable hold on him.

Deril stood back, pleased, then reached out and patted Obi-Wan's cheek. "There now," she said, "that wasn't so bad, was it? I stopped that nasty implant growing for a while, so the pain will be gone in a minute."

Obi-Wan stared at her blankly, then lifted his head and looked over Mek'Lee's shoulder, flailing against her when his vision finally cleared and he saw Qui-Gon slumped on the ground behind her, one side his face a mass of fresh blood. "No!" he moaned weakly, fighting to free himself.

"Hey!" Mek'Lee shouted when his hand smacked into her face, and tightened her hold. "Calm down!"

His strength ran out and he fell limp in her arms, his chin on her shoulder and his despairing gaze still fixed on his Master. "If you weren't worth so much I'd say you aren't worth the bother," the bounty hunter grumbled. "And what are you all gawking at?" she shouted angrily at the others. "I want charges set on that shuttle in ten minutes or I'm leaving without you!" She pointed at the Republic craft, a shadowed shape lurking near the trees.

Her companions hurried to obey her order, and she turned to Deril who had remained by her side. "Are you certain this gadget works?" she asked anxiously.

Deril shrugged, drawing a long finger across her cheek thoughtfully. "I don't know. I didn't design it, after all. I assume so, since the Lamari are so desperate to get their technology back. Then again, I suppose it doesn't matter either way to them – they can always hire more bounty hunters if it doesn't work and he," a nod at Obi-Wan, "ends up destroying us with that implant."

Mek'Lee gave her a withering glance, then walked off in the direction of their own ship, hidden some distance away, with Deril in tow. Drained, Obi-Wan watched Qui-Gon's inert form, frantically seeking movement of any kind from the older Jedi or a wrinkle in the Force to let him know he was all right, but none came as the bounty hunters took him off through the trees, to face his fate as he had known he would.

Alone.

* * *

**tbc…**


	7. Chapter 7

Ack, two months – my apologies!! This part was _hard_.

First, to answer bluedragongirl's questions (without giving too much away): the Lamarin implant is physical – I'll be explaining about the exact nature of the implant very soon. As for what went on in "Finding Grace", all I can say is that the neural web _wasn't_ implanted here. Don't worry, all should be revealed in the next few parts -

Second, it's probably a good idea to reread the very beginning of Part 1 (the dream sequence), as there are a lot of references to it throughout this part that might cause confusion.

So, finally, here's part 7! On with the show…

* * *

Gone From Danger - Part 7/?

* * *

It was a nightmare turned real, terrible pain filling his head to the boundaries of his tolerance and beyond, his body writhing against the restraints that held him in the metal chair. His screams, which had reverberated hollowly in the darkened cabin seemingly hours ago, had been reduced to a continuous, keening whimper, broken by hitching, convulsive gasps for breath when the pain subsided a little. On occasion, he would kick out fitfully, the bare metal deck ringing beneath his boots in a valiant attempt to drown out the sound of his agony, but it would always fade and leave him with his own voice filling his hearing once more.

Unbearably tired and increasingly resentful, he cursed the Lidregan bounty hunter, Deril, for lying to him, uncaring of whether she heard him or not. She had said the pain would _stop_, but if anything it had gotten worse. His head dropped forward, chin resting on his heaving chest, until the pinching sensation of Deril's inhibitor device on his neck forced him to lift it again; in a fleeting moment of anger, he rubbed the flat disc savagely against a raised shoulder, hoping to dislodge the wretched thing. He had attempted this several times earlier, his neck bleeding and raw from the repeated chafings, and as before the device failed to come off, its grasping hooks burrowing deeper into his flesh.

Unlike the other times though, it emitted a short beep, and the pain seemed to fade slightly…perhaps Deril had not attached it properly? And a lot of use it was, too. The Lamari who had supplied the bounty hunters with the inhibitor had obviously deceived their temporary employees into believing that it would prevent him from using the neural web. However, Obi-Wan knew that its horrifying power was still available to him, and that all the new device was doing was restricting the web's growth.

Panting and defeated, Obi-Wan moaned and slumped into the uncomfortable angles of the chair, feeling a chill from the metal seep through his tunics and welcoming the coolness on his overheated skin. As the pain dissolved slowly into more manageable proportions, his cries ceased and he brought his breathing under control. He pulled feebly at the binders around his wrists that secured his arms behind the chair in an almost half-hearted attempt to free himself, a gesture of necessary defiance to his absent captors that was needed more to settle his pain-addled thoughts than to aid his escape.

_Escape_… His mind clung greedily to that notion even while he realised that it was a faint possibility at best. Finding a way out of here had to be his focus – there were other things pressing for his attention, thoughts that might well draw him into an obstructive and potentially damaging depression if he dwelt on them too long. As it was, images skitted about on the verge of his concentration, maddening in their insistence but too frightening to acknowledge, and he shook with the effort of keeping them out.

There was one thought that he could not suppress, and it was one that had tormented him since shortly after his capture: what had become of Qui-Gon? Had the bounty hunters killed him…left him for dead on that nameless planet? The Force, massing around him through no action of his own, offered no solace or resolution to his fears, and even if he had trusted himself and the Lamarin neural web enough to seek a more active communion with the Force, he doubted it would help. There were limitations to his bond with Qui-Gon that both Master and Padawan had tested and mapped, and the largest restriction was distance. Emotional and physical states were simple enough to gauge through the Force, given that the two were in close proximity; more effort was required when a considerable distance was involved, in terms of planetary measurements, and then it was possible to gain only a very general idea of well-being. He had never maintained a connection with Qui-Gon at interplanetary or interstellar distances. Perhaps with the aid of the neural web, he might be able to overcome that constraint, but the risk of losing control was too real.

"Master." The soft word, whispered unintentionally, was lost in the gloom surrounding him, and he pulled up his unrestrained legs until his feet rested on the edge of the seat, his knees close to his body, curling farther into the uncompromising chair in deepening misery. What hope had he of escape, on a ship in hyperspace and amongst bounty hunters that had shown little difficulty in subduing two Jedi Knights? Without the Force, there was nothing he could do to help himself.

A hissing noise intruded on the overbearing silence of the cabin, and Obi-Wan stilled, remaining in a huddled posture as his eyes watched the door open, spilling green-tinted light across the metal deck and silhouetting a slim, jumpsuit-clad humanoid standing in the doorway. He already knew who his visitor was before his vision adjusted to the rapid increase of light.

Mek'Lee, the apparent leader of the bounty hunter team, stepped delicately into the cabin as though afraid of disturbing him, peering at him intently; Obi-Wan turned his head away, making a display of staring at the opposite wall while surreptitiously inspecting the woman for weapons. She was unarmed, wearing only an empty blaster holster and carrying nothing but a bowl in her hands, which she extended to him gingerly, the rounded pads of her fingertips curling around its rim.

"Are you hungry?"

The question surprised him and he looked at her in confusion, unable to form a reply at once. "Hungry?" he repeated after a moment, his booted feet slipping off the chair and back to the deck as he straightened, leaning over slightly to study the bowl and its contents: fruit of various types that he had never seen before, separated into segments.

Mek'Lee, emboldened by his lack of response, both verbal and physical, walked toward him and approached to within a few metres. "I'm a bounty hunter, little Jedi, not a barbarian. Would you like some food?" She balanced the bowl in one hand and picked out one of the fruit slices with her other, holding it out to him.

"No," he said softly, looking away again. "And no, you're not a barbarian," he went on, anger creeping into him. "You're much worse…you're a _civilised_ killer, and a naïve one at that." He glared up at her, but the anger was leaving him, despondency returning. "I doubt you have any idea what is at stake here."

"Okay, settle down." Mek'Lee, refusing to be riled by the Padawan, dropped the fruit slice back into the bowl and closed the gap between them, reaching down to deposit the bowl in his lap, but Obi-Wan flinched and kicked out, knocking it from her hands. The flattened bowl struck the deck and split into a number of uneven pieces that clattered on the metal amidst strewn sections of fruit. He shuddered, pain from his internal injuries flowering inside him to supplement the retreating mental agony, and lashed out again.

"_Enough!_" Mek'Lee stepped around the wild blow, smacking him in the face.

Obi-Wan froze when he felt sharp points rake across his jaw, drawing blood, and stared at Mek'Lee's withdrawing hand. Claws. He was certain he had not seen those when he had looked at her fingertips only a minute earlier…

Something jolted in his mind, and he blinked. A nightmare turned real indeed, like the dream he'd had just before Qui-Gon had left for Banis. The chair, the internal injuries, and to some extent the darkness – all the same. And now the scratches, as though to confirm a horror he already knew. If it had been a premonition, and the similarities between that terrible nightmare and his current situation were too many to be coincidence, then there was still more suffering to come before he even left this ship.

"Very well," Mek'Lee snapped, bothered by his suddenly vacant gaze. "Starve, for all I care. The Lamari are welcome to you." She scuffed her boot on the deck, rearranging the shattered bowl fragments and fallen fruit, her small claws retracting back into the hard, keratinous sheaths embedded in her fingers; why she had uncovered them when she had struck him, she was at a loss to explain. Her claws were vestigial, a remnant trait of a distant ancestor, and she rarely exposed them to anyone – they were crude, primal weapons, for which she had no need. Had this human, this _Jedi_, angered her so much that she would unsheath them simply to inflict more damage? Or had her fear of him and his power been so base that she had responded to even the smallest threat from him with instincts that were equally primitive?

Disconcerted, the bounty hunter hurried toward the open door, eager to be away from this unsettling young man, but something stopped her at the doorway and she looked back, her heart quickening at the dark stare focused on her, augmented by the shadows cowering in those corners of the cabin that the light beyond the door didn't reach. There appeared to be a sense of restraint in Obi-Wan's hunched shoulders that implied he was holding off more than mere pain, almost a warning of danger to the unwary and the underestimating. _What have I gotten us into?_ she found herself thinking as she stepped out and sealed the door behind her.

Blackness closed in around Obi-Wan, but he continued to gaze at the place where the door had been, now hidden by the dark, his mind not on the image of the bounty hunter's silhouette when she had been momentarily framed in the doorway against the light, but of the open door itself.

_Escape_. The word thundered in Obi-Wan's head, taunting him, and the gouges across his jaw throbbed in counterpoint, blood seeping down his neck. _Escape_. His foot twitched, stirring the scattered pieces of bowl and fruit like Mek'Lee's had. With the woman's brief visit, the crushing doubts concerning Qui-Gon's fate dissipated a little, the reality of his own fate acquiring momentum among his thoughts. He had to get out of here, off this ship – the Lamari could not be allowed to regain possession of the technology within him, regardless of what his premonitions had revealed to the contrary.

_Matters not, what you have seen_. _Matters, what you __**do**_. That had been Yoda's comment on Obi-Wan's fledgling Force-visions, years ago. _Possibilities, the Force reveals to us, not certainties_.

His decision was immediate; the neural web reacted instantly and Obi-Wan gasped explosively, his body abruptly awash with the Force. Behind him, the binders opened and slipped off his wrists, clanging on the deck. Obi-Wan drew his arms forward, hugging them around his stomach - the bacta backs that Healer Raeshin had bound against him were still there, steadily repairing the damage to his body. Grimacing, he struggled to his feet and wavered there, bolstering his flagging strength with the Force…how easily it came to him now, and the web was _responding_ to him. Maybe the event at Banis had been a once-off, a miscalculation on his part. Maybe his anxieties had been for naught.

And yet…

No. He couldn't allow room for doubts. The web was in his control and it had to stay that way if he was to escape. He had no way to deactivate it, and losing command of it could well destroy both himself and the ship. Days ago, that might have seemed like the best solution, but his priorities had changed with his tenuous influence over the web and it was now a last option. Besides, annihilating the bounty hunters who were responsible for the injury – deaths? – of three Jedi, of _his Master_, felt too much like revenge even if his reason was justifiable.

Obi-Wan took a grounding breath against the dizzying euphoria of his heightened Force-awareness and used the time his body needed to adjust to the unexpected connection to formulate a plan to capture the ship's bridge. It would take more than raw power, which was available to him in amounts that were numbing to contemplate, to take the ship intact and its crew alive. He didn't want to put the bounty hunters in a position where they would sacrifice their own lives in an attempt to keep the craft under their command.

Braced by the Force, his senses already extending far past his accustomed range, he advanced through the darkness, putting one hand out not to help him find his way but in an unconscious gesture to direct the Force. His fingers brushed the sharply cold metal of the door and he recoiled, chiding himself impatiently for his nerviness and placing his hand fully against the door, mentally seeking the locking mechanism within the adjacent bulkhead. Electronical, not manual as he had hoped, which meant that the bounty hunters would be alerted to his escape sooner than he would have liked.

The inhibitor on his neck whirred irritably and bit deeper into him, a belated reaction to the activation of the web, but Obi-Wan ignored it, intent on the lock's circuits. It was a trivial problem to be dealt with later, once he had control of the ship and contacted the Temple. Nothing could come in his way.

With a low _thunk_, the door unlocked and retracted, opening onto the green-lit corridor, which seemed darker than it had before. Tentatively, Obi-Wan took a step out and peered around the edge of the bulkhead, sharpening his senses with the Force and testing the immediate area for any indication of danger. Almost immediately, a warning flare returned and he ducked back inside, narrowly missing a blaster bolt that struck the bulkhead, scarring the naked metal.

Apparently, the bounty hunters had known he would at least try to escape. From where he was crouched on the deck inside the doorway, he could see two of them only metres away down the corridor, reduced to faceless shapes in the unnatural green light, both armed and moving cautiously toward the open doorway. There was a lightsaber dangling from the larger one's hip, cradled in a makeshift harness – Tiperis', not his own. Their minds, as he brushed lightly against them, were strong; he could attempt coercion, but he doubted he could be successful or fast enough to overpower their wills before they had a chance to fire on him again. Confrontation seemed to be inevitable.

Obi-Wan flung himself out into the corridor, both hands outstretched as he drew on the Force for aid, calling the stolen lightsaber to one hand while focusing the Force for a push with the other, driving the pair of bounty hunters farther back. Snatching the lightsaber out of the air, he activated it with a grim look of satisfaction and swept the yellow blade in an arc before him, settling into a defensive posture and hesitating when he recognised Mek'Lee as one of his two opponents.

"I knew it." She glared at the blinking device still affixed to Obi-Wan's neck. "I _knew_ it! _Rakking_ Lamarin liars!" she snarled, lapsing into her native language in her anger and gripping her blaster so tightly that her hand shook.

Obi-Wan reached up and tapped the object of her rage, smiling faintly. "You've been taken for a fool," he said harshly. "This thing is all but useless, and it's not going to help you now."

He hadn't yet finished speaking when the Force leapt to his mental touch, alerting him to the other bounty hunter's intentions a fraction of a second before the man fired his blaster. The bolt was deflected into the bulkhead with an almost casual, one-handed stroke from the lightsaber; the blaster was torn from the human's grasp and batted against the opposite bulkhead with a second deceptively light blow.

"I have no intention of hurting you," Obi-Wan continued, taking the lightsaber in both hands again. "All I want is the ship."

"You can't have it."

Obi-Wan blinked at Mek'Lee. "I wasn't asking you for it. I'm taking it."

"And you think I'm going to let you?" the female bounty hunter demanded, her eyes narrowing. "I have an appointment to keep. It's not my fault you got yourself into trouble."

"But it _is_ your fault that my companions are dead," Obi-Wan responded, ignoring the emotions aroused by that sentence. "And many more might die if you keep that appointment." There was a sense of unrealism to the situation now. He couldn't justify to himself why he was wasting time trying to reason with this woman when he had the power to resolve the conflict immediately, but it seemed necessary. Another feeling bothered him as well…dread.

"Not my problem," she replied, waving a hand dismissively, but the conviction in her voice wavered. "Money is money. Unfortunately, it's something I can't do without."

_She's stalling_. This thought had barely come to him when the deck lurched beneath his feet.

A self-satisfied smile appeared on Mek'Lee's face. "It's time to get paid."

The device on his neck screeched shrilly and vibrated; gasping, Obi-Wan felt the Force ripped from him, and he plunged forward in a desperate attempt to get past the bounty hunters, but was driven to his knees by blinding pain, slumping sideways into the bulkhead on his left. "No!" he cried, his mental grasp on the neural web slipping and leaving him completely alienated from the Force and its support. The inhibitor thrummed against his skin, warming with its increased activity, and Obi-Wan scrabbled at it, prepared to tear the thing out if he had to.

"You can't remove it," Mek'Lee informed him, her expression mocking. "That little contraption is more than adequate to stop you and your precious Force powers. Right now, it's releasing a drug into your system capable of disabling you within a minute. Even if you had the Force, you wouldn't have time to purge it before it takes effect."

Obi-Wan shuddered, the lightsaber falling from his hand and turning off automatically, clattering across the deck to rest at the feet of the male bounty hunter who snatched it up gleefully.

"Please, take it off!" He pulled at the inhibitor futilely, knowing what would happen – despite what Mek'Lee was saying, he hadn't been wrong about the device's inability to obstruct the neural web. It was activating on its own again, but something felt different this time, a larger power stirring inside him, touching parts of him that had so far been left unscathed by the web.

_No, __**no!**__ This isn't what I wanted!_ His struggle turned inward as the web expanded with a sudden, rapid burst of growth, tendrils of the artificial material penetrating specific areas of his brain and isolating others. It was gathering energy for another devastating purge, just like Banis…harvesting the Force-matrix and concentrating its power in his body, preparing to deal with the immediate threat of the inhibitor, as well as the perceived threat of the bounty hunters and, by extension, their ship.

"Take it off!" he howled at Mek'Lee, hunching into himself. Reason and purpose were vanishing swiftly, consumed by the web's filaments as they probed further into his brain, darkness seething through his thoughts. He reached out toward the woman imploringly, his face a contortion of pain and effort, battling unsuccessfully to regain control of the web. "Please! If you w-won't help me…h-help _yourselves!_"

Obi-Wan's frantic pleas appeared to be having an effect on Mek'Lee, her smile fading into an expression of apprehension, then alarm, slowly realising that something was amiss and that the Jedi should have lost consciousness by now had the drug been working properly. She drifted closer to him, her movements tense, but Obi-Wan knew that whatever action she might have taken was now too late. The web, achieving its climax, began expelling the Force levels that had accumulated in Obi-Wan's body in a gradual Force-push, focusing first on the inhibitor, which shrieked terribly and cracked, the flat metal casing splitting down the middle and breaking apart. Its hooked metal appendages pulled out of his neck, and the precisely halved pieces of the inhibitor dropped to the deck, liquid oozing from the breached, hollow shell.

Mek'Lee swayed back, buffeted by the push. "Tell me what to do!" she shouted at Obi-Wan, instinctively bringing her hands up against the invisible pressure.

Retching dryly and fighting for coherent thought, the Padawan gestured weakly at her blaster, which was still in her hand. "Shoot me," he gasped.

"What?" Mek'Lee faltered, staring at him. Around her, the bulkheads groaned and the very ship itself seemed to shudder with the stress of the Force-push, which was growing stronger with every passing second.

"Shoot _at_ me. The…" His voice broke as a wave of agony washed through him, but he pressed on regardless. "The web should discharge completely by responding to the threat."

Mek'Lee lifted the blaster uncertainly, her hand shaking now not from anger, but fear, then let off a wildly-aimed bolt, the weapon jerking in her grip, before flinging it away from her. There was an excruciating heave through Obi-Wan's body and he screamed as the web emptied itself in a single, violent surge, overwhelming his senses and slamming him into the bulkhead. He heard a cry from Mek'Lee and a frightened shout from her companion, but his attention was on the awful sensation of the Force draining from his body, and the nauseating pull on his mind. The process took no more than a few seconds, leaving him trembling in its wake, as hollow and empty as the leaking inhibitor beside him on the deck. Blood spread wetly across his scalp where the impact of his skull against the bulkhead had opened a laceration, and his cheekbone throbbed harshly, but he was ignorant of both these fresh injuries and the old ones, capable only of frenzied relief. _It worked_…with the danger removed, the implant was slipping back into dormancy.

Dragging a breath into his aching lungs, Obi-Wan opened his eyes and saw Mek'Lee crouched on the deck, clutching her head protectively; farther up the corridor, the other bounty hunter stood aghast, Tiperis' lightsaber dangling loosely in his hand. The light around them flickered and brightened, shifting to a paler colour, and Obi-Wan stared about him, appalled by the damage he saw. Doors had buckled, some blown inward; the plates of the deck had warped, and even the bulkheads had been distorted; broad, ugly streaks of discolouration tarnished the metal. Mek'Lee's blaster, the focal point of the web's purge, had been mangled almost beyond recognition.

What had he been thinking, trying to manipulate the neural web? He had known better, yet he had ignored common sense in his urgency to escape, his judgement overridden by his concern for Qui-Gon. By the Force, he could have destroyed the whole ship, and how would that have helped his Master?

Perhaps aiding Qui-Gon wasn't the dominant factor in this situation – his loss of control had felt external, as though it had been taken from him rather than a fault on his part. He _had_ been in command of the web, he was certain of it, so who had the power to seize control? Not the bounty hunters, for they had been utterly dependant on the inhibitor to disable him. _Who?_

The answer came to him quite literally: a woman appeared at the end of the corridor, moving confidently past Mek'Lee and the human and coming to a stop in front of him, settling easily onto her knees and taking his face in her hands. "Obi-Wan…I'm sorry, child." Her eyes were dark as she stroked his unharmed cheek, the slim fingers of her other hand gently probing at the wound across his temple and following it toward his ear. "I couldn't let you escape."

Sashri, the High Priestess of Lamari – the woman who, for a few short days, had been his mentor, his friend; who had betrayed him and damned him in those same days. She was _here_, and she had betrayed him once more. "I trusted you," he whispered, frozen in shock.

"I know," she replied, bowing her head and leaning back. "I can't ask you to understand, and I can't explain my actions, but you have to come with me. We will bring an end to this soon, I promise, and then you won't have to suffer anymore."

His head drooped forward, touching hers, his eyes closing and tears seeping between the clenched eyelids. "You're going to kill me." His voice was soft, loud enough only for her to hear, and he choked on a sob when he felt her nod silently, then slumped forward against her as she touched a hypospray to the back of his neck.

_Master…I tried_.

* * *

tbc…


	8. Chapter 8

This part was supposed to be out much sooner, but my laptop went down and had to be repaired, which set me back about two weeks…and then there's been the whole thing… Anyway, I apologise (yet again) for the wait!

Author's notes: Things are finally coming together, so there are going to be quite a few links and connections made during the next few parts. In fact, I had to cut almost a third of this part because it was getting far too long, but most of that is now included in part 9. Like part 7, this post refers back to a previous section – probably a good idea to check out the memory sequence in part 3. And, at last, some of what went on in Finding Grace is explained!

Disclaimer (new for this part): the following verse from "Who Do You Think I Am" belongs to Joan Baez and the Grapevine Label.

"…and when it's over it's never over,

and when it's empty it's never done.

I am in silence gone from danger,

far away is the forgotten one."

* * *

Gone From Danger - Part 8/?

* * *

Obi-Wan woke to darkness, absolute and impenetrable except for a solitary woman who stood a few metres away, lit by some unseen source, holding herself regal and silent as she watched him with golden eyes that held a timeless intelligence. Her face belied her age, elegantly beautiful and framed by greying hair that lay over her shoulders; in a simple cream gown, she was radiant amongst the shadows…_her_ shadows, the ones that pervaded his senses, seeping through his body.

"Come with me," she said softly, holding a hand out to him.

She commanded his limited world: she was master.

_Master_…

As he stepped toward her, his own hand lifting to take hers, another person materialised out of the darkness beside her, just as luminous as she in a pale, hooded robe that wrapped around his body, concealing much of his large frame but leaving his face exposed, his expression haggard and desperate.

"Don't leave me," he pleaded, his voice broken with grief. _He_ was Master, more than she could ever be, holding sway over him with an anguish that was heartbreaking in its sincerity. "Please."

He was caught, frozen in uncertainty, his fingertips grazing the woman's, yet she seemed as trapped as he was for she made no move to grasp him. The choice was made for him when the man extended his hand, reaching for him; he gripped that hand tightly, holding it to his chest, and allowed the now weeping man to embrace him. The slim figure close by lowered her arm, her expression mournful.

"I am sorry," she whispered. "Forgive me…"

* * *

_I forgive you_.

Obi-Wan stirred with a shuddering gasp, words of absolution dying in his throat as his eyes opened, blinking fiercely in a futile attempt to clear his distorted vision. In contrast to the black of his dream world, his waking world was pleasantly bright, a warm glow that suffused his surroundings. However, it was that light that revealed the metal box of a room he had been confined in, and for a moment he craved the ignorance of darkness – at least then he could imagine that he was elsewhere, and not in the clutches of the people he had fled from for the past few weeks.

This new prison, despite its similarities to the cabin on the bounty hunters' ship, felt infinitely more oppressive, the light quickly becoming harsh on the constrictive metal walls, and while he had been allowed free movement within the room, the lack of restraints derided him, emphasising his inability to escape. His only relief came when he was taken out to use the adjacent 'fresher, and even then it was only another chance for his captors to reinforce his submission, because he didn't have the strength to challenge them. The Force had set him adrift again, lured by the Lamarin implant but noticeably shrinking away from him whenever he turned to it; occasionally, he could feel it ghosting against his mind, probing him as though searching for a change, but still it continued to give him a wide berth.

He was curled into the farthest corner from the door, his limbs gathered close to him and his head resting against the wall, the same position he had fallen asleep in. Blearily, he unfolded his legs and slumped more fully onto the floor, touching his hand to the warm stone floor, the pitted surface reminding him once again that he was planet-bound. He remembered nothing of the transfer between the bounty hunters' ship and the Lamarin craft that had rendezvoused with them – the lurch he had felt during his ill-fated escape attempt had been the ship decelerating out of hyperspace – nor landing on this planet and the subsequent relocation to wherever he was now.

He did remember the agony of waking and finding himself back in that chair, sometime before he had been moved, unable to control his emotions and screaming his Master's name with increasing anguish. It had been horrific, the culmination of one premonition that he had been so anxious to disprove, made worse by the knowledge that he had failed to alter events and that there was undoubtedly more to come.

Since he had regained consciousness here, time had passed in torturous periods of constant pain and troubled sleep that brought no rest. During brief intervals of lucidity, when the agony retreated, he was alarmed to find gaps in his memory that were growing with disquieting speed. The Lamarin web's incursion into his mind was becoming destructive, stealing memories by interrupting neural pathways in his brain. He was even beginning to lose his ability to speak, and articulate thought was increasingly difficult to maintain… Friends were becoming strangers, and even the memory of the Temple, his _home_, seemed alien. And Qui-Gon…

Obi-Wan gripped his stained tunic as a hacking cough tried to double him up, his vision hazing into grey from the pain, but his labouring lungs recovered quickly and his body settled, shivering spasmodically in reaction. Distractedly, he brushed a hand at his mouth, rubbing blood away from his lips, then looked at his fingers while the fog cleared from his sight. The blood was dark from internal injuries that had gone too long without proper treatment, and his heart sank, the threat of tears stinging his eyes, before he scrubbed his hand savagely against his tunic, leaving a faint crimson smear on the pale material. Dying was an inevitability he had thought he had accepted; an eventuality that he had known must surely come when this nightmarish situation came to its conclusion. In his heart, he knew that death was the only way out: this time, there would be no timely rescue, no daring escape. He found a limited comfort in the thought that perhaps the Force-forsaken neural web would die with him.

Sitting back against the wall, he picked listlessly at the other stains on his tunic, most of them caused when two burly male Lamari had attempted to force-feed him. It had been a humiliating experience for Obi-Wan, and one that had left bruises on his body and what was left of his dignity; the satisfaction from resisting the Lamari in such a task was minimal and hardly worth the additional pain, but it had been a _compulsory_ defiance.

An image flashed unexpectedly into his thoughts, and his head tossed in surprise: nescra-blossoms, thousands of them, dropping down around him, choking the air with pale colour and heady scents. He concentrated on the memory as it pushed its way into his consciousness, savouring the distraction from the pain.

Somehow, it was different – before, the memory had been uplifting, a reminder that not everything in the past months had been unpleasant. Now, it seemed sinister, the beautiful blossom petals smothering him. The skin of his hands appeared to be frozen to the meditation stone he held, and he felt unbalanced, light-headed. The petals were distracting as they wheeled through the air, averting his attention from the warning signs his body was displaying, his mind so full of the Force that he hadn't given a thought to the darkness he had sensed, even then. _A trick_…

The hollow tapping of knuckles on the metal door startled him out of the memory and he pressed farther into the corner, the lights dimming around him in an effort to put him off-balance. However, the abrupt change in brightness only served to bring his focus back and he struggled up into a crouch, his fists balled on his knees as he watched the door guardedly, submerging the blooming, paralysing agony that roused at his movements, a protest from his aching body. The frighteningly real possibility that it was time for his purpose to be fulfilled rose in his mind, unsettling him, and he felt desperation swell within him, urging him to action. He was weakened, weaponless, Force-less – defenceless, but this time he wouldn't comply with their wishes.

A sliver of light appeared as the door opened, and he tensed himself to spring at the intruder…then sagged back onto his haunches, shocked beyond disbelief at the sight of the tall, long-haired figure standing in the doorway. "_Master?_"

Qui-Gon's face, made indistinct by the light behind him and the relative darkness of the room, mirrored his own for a moment, his mouth tightening in apprehension, then eased into a relieved smile as he strode into the room. "Obi-Wan," he sighed gently, dropping to one knee and opening his arms.

Irrational terror seized Obi-Wan, suffocating any other emotion he felt at his Master's sudden reappearance and blanketing his mind with doubt. The voice and face matched well enough, but his restricted sense of the Force informed him that the corresponding signature was wrong – it wasn't concentrated enough to denote the presence of a Jedi, and it certainly wasn't recognisable as Qui-Gon's. The notion that the neural web was distorting his ability to distinguish Force-signatures correctly was fleeting and easily dismissed in consideration of all the deceit that had already been presented to him. This simply wasn't Qui-Gon.

"Padawan?" A frown pulled at the man's features and he shuffled closer, lowering his arms. There was the sound of movement past the open door, and he looked round with an expression of resentment that Obi-Wan was unused to seeing on the too-familiar face.

"W-Wh-" His attempts to speak were foiled by fear and bitterness, brought about by his comprehension of a scenario that had been too good to be true; the Lamarin web's effect on his speech only added to the difficulty. The relief that had come from believing – _knowing _– that his Master was alive, the brief joy at being reunited at last, was slipping away from him, leaving him broken-spirited. "Why are you doing this to me?" he whispered bleakly, covering his face with his hands and wincing as his palm made contact with his swollen, injured cheek.

His emotions were fleeing him, taking his strength with them, and he suddenly couldn't find the energy to care anymore. Pain and his physical condition were becoming of less and less concern to him – the only thing of any importance that remained was Qui-Gon, and the Lamari had managed to corrupt that as well. They were trying to undermine everything he was, everything he held dear, in their ambition for Force power, and this mockery that they were presenting him with now had a feeling of terrible finality – a last, scornful blow to his psyche before they destroyed him. He was tired of being responsible for the web and its potential for devastation. He just wanted it out of him.

He had lost his resolve to fight, and they had won.

The neural web responded to his mental withdrawal as though a final hindrance had been removed, its already innumerable network of strands multiplying at unprecedented speed, and the effect was immediate. Reeling, Obi-Wan put a hand to his head and groaned, feeling the effects of the web's activity like a physical blow.

Specific memories, both short- and long-term, were being plucked from him, briefly removing all significance from the man kneeling in front of him. Worse, his already impeded sense of the Force was deteriorating further, his perception of his surroundings altering, simplifying. And _pain_, awful, blistering pain like nothing he'd felt even throughout the whole ordeal since he'd become aware of the web, white-hot and all-consuming, though thankfully it was already starting to ebb.

Someone patted at his arm and he flinched away from the touch, blinking dazedly and trying to regain his bearings.

"Padawan?"

The word caught his fragmented attention, giving him the focus he urgently needed, and he eyed the large, bearded man who had moved to squat before him. Intimidated by the proximity, he huddled farther into the corner, his eyes wide and frightened at the seething chaos inside him.

"Obi-Wan, please, don't be afraid," his companion coaxed soothingly, reaching out to him. "I can help you, but you'll have to trust me."

He stared at the hand and its implied offer of aid, relaxing out of his defensive posture. The voice demanded his obedience in a subtle tone that made a connection with some part of his mind that was unharmed by his inner instabilty, and he found himself taking the man's hand and lurching forward eagerly into a consoling embrace.

"I have him." The words weren't meant for Obi-Wan and he paid only the slightest heed to them, folding his arms around the stranger's waist; the mental strain and the neural implant itself was pressuring him into sleep, enforcing rest before vital areas of his brain became damaged by his body's instinctive resistance to the web's invasion as it wrested control from him.

* * *

As the young Jedi drifted into an imposed slumber, "Qui-Gon" grunted and shifted the sagging body in his arms to accommodate the increased weight of slackening muscles, his face brightening with the elation of success.

"Kerrov?" a voice enquired from the doorway, and he glanced at the woman standing behind him.

"It's done," the Lamarin scientist confirmed, his voice reverting to its accustomed pitch. The temporary surgery and weeks of coaching he had needed to effectively impersonate this boy's Master had paid off: the Jedi was theirs. "He should be receptive to suggestion once the web has stabilised."

"How soon can we integrate him with the _Madellin-ki_?"

Kerrov paused, frowning thoughtfully. "The physical merge can be done immediately, but I would rather offset that until he's conscious and received at least some form of preparation. He's more than just hardware. The psychological shock of insertion might damage his mind beyond use."

"It's not the mind I'm interested in," Sashri remarked as she approached and clasped the scientist's shoulder, staring down at Obi-Wan's face, pale beneath the livid bruising, and avoiding Kerrov's eyes, perturbed by the likeness to Qui-Gon that he had adopted. The illusion was troublingly real and brought feelings that were better left undisturbed.

Sighing, Kerrov shook his head. "Might I advise patience, then? In his state, too much stress might kill him, and the web won't work without a living host," he reminded harshly.

"The politicians will not wait long." Her fingers tightened on his shoulder. "They are buckling under the pressure from Valorum and the Senate to relinquish all information about the web. And the Jedi won't dawdle in their search either. We're running out of time!"

Kerrov said nothing. Events were moving much too fast for his liking, mostly due to the growing nervousness of the Lamarin government, which had been expecting a quick result when it had consented to this project – this long-term investment worried the politicians, and now they were beginning to panic. They had been the ones to push for bounty hunters, but snatching Obi-Wan had only further involved the Jedi.

And this…quickening the implant's maturation through manipulation and emotional breakdown was a cruel, rudimentary method that he resented greatly. He had known it was an approach that would succeed: the orchestrated attack on Dareela, still unexplained by the Dareelans and the Jedi, had worked in much the same manner. In both cases, a traumatic event involving Qui-Gon Jinn had served as a catalyst, inducing the web to accelerated growth and bringing the _Madellin-ki_ project closer to completion.

_Madellin-ki_: Dawning. The technology that would bring Lamari out of the anonymous shadow of the Republic, making it a power that no one could defy. Lamari had gone too long as a dependant planet, fully reliant on others in the Republic, but this would be the first step toward regaining self-sufficiency. Recognition was the objective, not conquest; that, and the aspiration to connect with the Force as only the Jedi could. There would be repercussions, of course, for abducting a Jedi student, but if necessary Lamari would claim autonomy and withdraw its membership from the Republic. Besides, the decision to implant Obi-Wan was irreversible – there was no way to remove the neural web, and eventually, once the system was perfected and could be used by the Lamarin people, the Padawan would be killed. If the Lamari themselves didn't do it, then the web certainly would by consuming his body from the inside out.

Blinking, Kerrov broke his reverie and repositioned Obi-Wan's sleeping form in his arms again, pulling out of Sashri's grip and lurching unceremoniously to his feet, realising with a start that it would be mere hours before the neural implant fully established its control. Time _was_ short – it had already been well over a week since the bounty hunters had captured Obi-Wan, and although their current position was sufficiently hidden, it was doubtful they could continue to elude the Jedi for too long.

Perhaps Sashri was right. Could they afford to wait, and waste time on preparing the Padawan for his insertion into the _Madellin-ki_, or might it be simpler to integrate him while he was still unconscious? After so many years of hard work, any delay irritated him but to make the wrong decision would have devastating consequences.

He nodded swiftly at Sashri. "I'll start the procedure immediately."

The High Priestess began to reply but was interrupted by a deep, bass hum that shook the room around them with its intensity, followed by a thundering roar of noise and the distant sound of rending metal. Silence descended, yet the floor beneath them continued to vibrate with the repercussions of a monumental impact.

"A bomb?" Sashri asked, hurrying to the door and leaning out; the corridor was undamaged.

Kerrov joined her, then pushed past and started to run in the opposite direction of the blast, heading for the main laboratory and its adjoining hangar. "A laser cannon!" he shouted back at her, hearing her footsteps behind him. "They're attacking us from space!"

True to Sashri's words, the Jedi hadn't delayed – somehow, they had traced the bounty hunters, who were now long gone, or possibly even the Lamarin ship, to this abandoned planet and discovered the underground complex, which was shielded but conceivably detectable to powerful sensors. It might be as little as an hour before touchdown; after that, only minutes until the Jedi penetrated the base and overcame their defences. An hour… He looked down at Obi-Wan, who slept on oblivious. Despite the dangers, the boy would have to be woken, regardless of how stable the neural web was. He wouldn't allow all the sacrifices they had made to get this far be for nothing. He _would not _allow this project to fail…_not now_…

* * *

tbc…


	9. Chapter 9

Most of this part was actually supposed to be included in part 8, which is why it's out so quick!

Author's notes: The dream sequence in part 3 is mentioned again. Also, to avoid confusion, _Madellin-ki_ translates to _Dawning_ in Basic (see part 8) – I'll only use the Basic translation when it's from Obi's perspective. And no, this isn't another Obi-centric part! Well, not _exactly_, anyway. I thought I'd better break that habit before it gets the better of me - Also, the name of the ship _Mercy Bound_ is the title of another Joan Baez song.

* * *

Gone From Danger - Part 9/?

* * *

On the bridge of the Dinisian ship _Mercy Bound_, a rather bizarre name for a craft that was a warship in all but classification, Qui-Gon stood behind the pilot's seat, grimly watching the targeting computer redirect the laser cannon and discharge another extended burst toward the planet's surface. His barely healed shoulder ached with tension, and although he favoured his right leg it still throbbed distractingly. However, he ignored the pain resolutely, intent on the planet below, his eyes narrowing in what could have been a wince as the laser cannon methodically stripped away plant life and soil to reveal more of the hidden Lamarin installation.

Movement outside the starboard viewport caught his eye and a battered, elongated ship drifted into view, bringing its squat nose round to face them: the unexpected, and from Qui-Gon's standpoint _unwanted_, allies who had brought them here after a week's fruitless search for Obi-Wan. Mek'Lee and her team of bounty hunters. Why they had chosen to help the Jedi, he didn't know and frankly didn't care; he deeply resented their aid but had been forced to accept it. If he wasn't so concerned about Obi-Wan, his anger toward them might well have been much greater.

There was something nagging Qui-Gon about the entire situation with the bounty hunters. While they had destroyed the Republic shuttle after their attack on the Jedi-controlled planet, they had left the communications equipment within the house intact, allowing Qui-Gon to contact the Council for assistance. Also, none of the Jedi had been seriously wounded – the projectiles they had used in their weapons had caused intense pain but minimal damage. Tiperis had sustained only bruising from the beating that the bounty hunters had given her, and Qui-Gon, aside from the pellet wounds, had woken with a minor concussion. Raeshin had been the most seriously wounded, but fortunately the projectiles had missed his spine and vital organs.

The attack could have been much worse, and that was what troubled him now. Their choice of weapons perplexed Qui-Gon. The projectile rifles they had carried seemed an inefficient method when they could have used stun bolts in their blasters, which would have incapacitated their targets far more quickly. Of course, blaster bolts could be deflected by a lightsaber and consequently used to injure the assailants rather than the assailed. However, in his experience bounty hunters were methodical – leaving the three Jedi alive and their communications intact meant arrogance, or carelessness. Qui-Gon didn't believe Mek'Lee and her team were either of those, but that could only mean that their actions had been intentional, and that conclusion, together with their temporary cooperation with the Jedi, worried him more. He could sense that their desire to assist was genuine, but _why?_ Why would they want to help now and risk their reputation, as well as arrest? And why had the Council offered no explanation when the bounty hunters had arrived, despite the fact that Mek'Lee was adamant she had the Council's permission?

The other ship retreated from sight again, looping away to a position just behind the _Mercy Bound_, and Qui-Gon took a few moments to regain his composure. He felt someone come to stand beside him, deliberately remaining just out of his peripheral vision and forcing him to look away from the viewport. Ruya Sansaro offered him a strained, cheerless smile of support that Qui-Gon didn't bother to return. It had been Ruya and Noreif who had rescued the three injured Jedi from the haven world, having completed their mission on Banis and appropriating the _Mercy Bound_ from a neighbouring planet, Dinis.

"Qui, please come and sit," the older Master requested, his smile fading and his tattooed face wrinkling into a stern expression.

Qui-Gon frowned and turned away from his friend, staring at the numerous displays cluttering the bridge. "I would rather remain here," he replied pointedly, folding his arms tightly and stiffening at a sharp jab from his shoulder.

"You're not helping by being here." Ruya's tone was just as cutting as the pain, and Qui-Gon could hear the frustration in his voice. "And if you don't rest you won't be much help when we enter the installation either."

The pilot of the _Mercy Bound_ glanced at his co-pilot, then around at the two Jedi. "Perhaps you should do as he says," he remarked carefully. "I'll be taking the ship down in a few minutes, anyway."

Shifting his weight from his sound leg and testing the strength of the other, Qui-Gon had to admit that a brief rest would do him good - his right leg wouldn't continue to support him much longer. "All right," he acquiesced, reluctantly turning his back to the viewport and following Ruya aft, into the passenger compartment.

Noreif Leksalis, leaning against one bulkhead, looked up from the deck at their entrance, his dark eyes uneasy. In one of the chairs, Raeshin was cautiously massaging his back, gauging the extent of healing with an expression of satisfaction. Seated opposite him, Tiperis stretched and gave the two Masters a small smile, bruising still evident on her face but nowhere near as vivid as it had been a week ago. Her lightsaber hung from her belt once more, returned to her by the bounty hunters as an evident show of goodwill, along with Obi-Wan's, which Qui-Gon had stowed away in one of the warship's cramped cabins.

"The pilot will be landing shortly," Ruya announced, sitting beside Raeshin. Qui-Gon took a seat with Tiperis and sighed involuntarily, the ache ebbing from his leg and shoulder. "Getting in won't be a problem – the laser cannon has already taken care of that. However, the Lamari already know we're coming and we only have a vague idea of how well defended this complex is, so we'll have to go carefully."

Raeshin leaned forward slightly. "Weapons are not our sole concern. I can only speculate on Obi-Wan's condition and how much he might have deteriorated, physically…and mentally," he finished delicately.

"Mentally?" Qui-Gon stared at the Healer, waiting for elaboration.

"It is probable that the implant's growth will have caused damage to his brain. The tests I ran on him earlier indicated that certain areas would be affected if the neural web continued to grow in the pattern it was demonstrating. Memory loss, in particular. There might also be behavioural discrepancies." Raeshin's face was sympathetic when he looked at Qui-Gon. "Our priority is to find Obi-Wan, but use caution when you approach him. He might not recognise you, and if we frighten him he could lash out...we have already seen what he is capable of."

Qui-Gon stiffened in protest at the man's words but couldn't argue with him. "Very well," he acceded grudgingly.

The _Mercy Bound_ shifted fractionally around them, descending toward the planet's atmosphere, and the five Jedi stirred at the movement. Qui-Gon felt tension build inside him again, now that their search was coming to an end. As anxious as he was to see Obi-Wan, he couldn't help a sense of trepidation – when he found his Padawan, would it be the same boy that had been taken from him? Would he look into Obi-Wan's eyes and see Light, or Dark?

* * *

In the main laboratory, Sashri paced impatiently, her gaze repeatedly drawn to the heavy blast doors that separated the room from the expansive hangar beyond. Twenty minutes had passed – the barrage from space had ceased, which meant that the Jedi would be landing shortly.

She slipped her hand inside a pocket of her loose robe, similar to the one that Kerrov wore, and found the solid, angular shape she had placed there, curling her fingers around it. It was one of the meditation stones she had brought with her from home, and also her means of keeping the neural web in check – she doubted that even Kerrov knew just how much control she had. She had to remain in constant contact with the stone to ensure that the implant stayed dormant until the time came to use it, which was a tiring but gratifying process.

Close by, two Lamari guards held Obi-Wan upright while Kerrov struggled to get the young Jedi ready, his efforts punctuated by grunts of frustration as he stripped off Obi-Wan's soiled garments and redressed him in a pale grey jumpsuit, leaving him barefoot. The scientist had already fitted a somewhat cumbersome headset, a slim but heavy lattice of metal embedded with sensors, and the unconscious boy's head lolled forward under the additional weight. His hair was damp, the caked blood that had matted there now scrubbed away, and both the scalp laceration and the fractured cheek bore bacta patches. It was a meaningless gesture, treating superficial wounds while leaving the more dangerous internal injuries unattended, but also somehow appropriate.

Kerrov glanced round at Sashri as he pulled a pair of tight-fitting gloves on over Obi-Wan's limp fingers, strapping them securely into place with cuffs. "I need a stimulant," he called to her, gesturing toward a tray of hyposprays near her. "The one with the blue tag." He turned the Padawan's hands over, scrutinising the network of glistening fibres that ran through the palms of the gloves and checking for loose connections.

Without waiting for Sashri to retrieve the stimulant, he motioned sharply at the guards and strode toward the blast doors, pulling a remote from a pocket of his replicated Jedi clothing and activating it as he approached. The doors – two sets in all – hummed to life and sighed apart, revealing the bustling hangar and the craft it housed: the massive, armed transport that had brought them here, already powering its engines in preparation for a swift departure, and a much smaller ship, surrounded by short cylindrical containers. The floor of the cavernous space was several levels below them as they walked out of the laboratory onto a suspended metal catwalk that brought them to a point directly above the two vessels, and it was the slighter of the pair that drew Sashri's attention.

No more than thirty metres long and ten across at its widest point, the _Madellin-ki_ was reminiscent of one of Lamari's famed meditation stones, with a transparent outer hull constructed from the same material that formed the neural web, and an opaque inner hull. Halfway along the fuselage, the ovoid outer hull flanged into a pair of stubby wings that housed the ship's engines; its hyperdrive was located in a compartment within the outer hull, while the inner hull contained the tiny cockpit.

The _Madellin-ki_ was rainbow-hued under the hangar's lights, its translucent fuselage separating the artificial light into a spectrum of colours – it was beautiful, with an air of delicacy about it, but Sashri recognised its menace. First and foremost, the craft was a weapon, to be powered by the captive Jedi and the neural web currently in his body. Like the meditation stones they were modelled on, both the ship and the web were conduits, an irresistible lure for the Force and a method of channelling its mysterious energy. The more Force-sensitive the user, the greater the power: that was the reason why they had risked so much to ensnare a Jedi at Obi-Wan's level and age, perhaps a little naïve in his youth but easier to manipulate because of it, and still formidable in his abilities.

Noticing the small group advancing, the cluster of technicians around the _Madellin-ki_ paused in their work, a few clambering up onto the ship's flattened roof and opening the hatch recessed into the crystalline material. Sashri glimpsed a faint puff of evaporating liquid as the hatch irised open and the craft's inner atmosphere was exposed to the warmer air of the hangar.

"We're coming down!" Kerrov informed the technicians and began to descend a short flight of steps leading to a second catwalk a few metres above the _Madellin-ki_'s roof, the two men carrying Obi-Wan behind him. Sashri looked at her wrist-chrono as she followed them down, noting that another ten minutes had elapsed and they had yet to integrate the Jedi with the _Madellin-ki_'s systems.

Kerrov seemed oblivious to the constraints of time now, dropping through a gap in the catwalk and landing heavily on top of the ship, his legs folding beneath him before he regained his balance. At his word, Obi-Wan was lowered carefully through the hole into the scientist's grasp, then settled on the roof while Kerrov reached up again to help Sashri down. The pair of guards retreated up the steps and disappeared back into the complex.

"How much longer?" Sashri asked, passing the hypospray to him and watching her companion kneel beside Obi-Wan and press the tip of the instrument beneath his jaw.

"It will only take a few seconds to put him in," Kerrov replied, casting aside the hypospray and shaking the Padawan's shoulders firmly. "However, his body will need to equalise before he can operate the ship."

There was a groggy moan from Obi-Wan and his head jerked under the burden of the headset, wobbling upward to bring his face into view. His eyes were dull and unresponsive, and he expelled a heavy, snorting breath in reaction to the scientist's attempts to revive him.

"Look at him!" Sashri's tone was reproving. "He'll never be ready in time."

"Shh!" Kerrov hissed, his voice adapting to emulate Qui-Gon's once more. "Obi-Wan, wake up," he coaxed, his grip on the young Jedi becoming gentler, and Sashri shivered at the transformation. "Padawan, focus. It's your Master, Qui-Gon."

"M…thter…" The syllables were badly garbled and barely audible, but Kerrov understood them all the same. "Mah…ster?"

"Yes, Padawan. Do you remember?"

Obi-Wan blinked slowly, awareness gradually removing the stupor from his gaze, and his nod was exaggerated as he stared at Kerrov, a bemused frown appearing. "Mas…ter."

Trembling fingers lifted, trying to touch his face, but Kerrov released his shoulders and caught the extended hand before they made contact. "Obi-Wan, listen to me," he urged, adopting his persona of Qui-Gon smoothly. "Listen!" His voice sharpened a touch and he cupped Obi-Wan's chin with his free hand when the Jedi's attention wavered. "There are people coming for you. They want to hurt you, Padawan. We have to leave." Kerrov kept his sentences deliberately short and his hold steady. "Do you understand?"

Again, the overstated nod, but the eyes brightened noticeably. "Yes."

Kerrov sighed in relief, and he heard Sashri do the same. "Good, Padawan. I want you to go in there, where you'll be safe," he said, pointing at the open hatch.

"All right." Obi-Wan's voice was timid, his manner compliant, and Sashri took a moment to wonder at how much his demeanour had changed because of the implant. As a result of the technology she had helped to develop, by contributing her knowledge of the meditation stones and her own limited ability with the Force, this strong, determined and intelligent young man had become nervous, submissive; vastly different from the way he had been when she had first met him on Lamari, all those months ago. The power that she had over his life both frightened and thrilled her.

Between herself and Kerrov – she with the authority over the neural web, he with a rein over Obi-Wan's emotions – they could control the Padawan completely, and command him as they wished. It was a giddy sensation, to gain utter possession of a being that was regarded by most of the galaxy as untouchable…a Jedi, the embodiment of peace and justice.

The feeling was similar to the one she had experienced while she implanted Obi-Wan with the self-replicating material that would eventually form the core of the neural web. That memory, when Obi-Wan had learned to use the meditation stone on his own, had never faded in intensity for her, and she doubted that it had for Obi-Wan either, although he would have remembered it for different reasons. She could still close her eyes and see the earnest wonder on his face, half-shrouded by blossom petals and clutching his meditation stone tightly, unaware that the crystal he held was transmitting a substance into his body through his skin which would later grow into the web. It had been a glorious day for both of them, but ultimately one of tragedy for Obi-Wan, who had proceeded to turn time and again to the stone to help him commune with the Living Force, innocent to the fact that he was escalating his own downfall by doing so.

Her reminiscence was brief. She stepped out of the way as Kerrov rose and brought Obi-Wan up with him, propelling the boy toward the hatch with a reassuring hand between the shoulder blades. During her lapse of concentration, it seemed that Kerrov had already explained to the Jedi what was required of him, and finally there was intelligence in Obi-Wan's gaze, his cognitive functions starting to steady. When he glanced at her it was only with interest, reassuring her that the web was still working to suppress his memories. The speed of his stabilisation surprised her, but Kerrov was unconcerned.

A few murmured words in his ear was all it took to get Obi-Wan inside the hatch, climbing down out of sight, and Kerrov joined Sashri as technicians reappeared to seal the ship. Someone on the hangar floor gave a shout and machinery whined beneath the _Madellin-ki_, a powerful pump feeding liquid from the tanks beside the ship into the inner hull and flooding the opaque cockpit. The liquid, _thrana_, was manufactured on Lamari and used in some atmospheric craft as a buffer to counter the effects of high gravity. Even a few starships utilised _thrana_ to supplement their artificial gravity and structural integrity systems, especially those that were required to make difficult atmospheric manoeuvres on a regular basis.

Sashri stared past her feet. "Will he be all right?"

"He won't drown," the scientist replied. "_Thrana_ is breathable, and I warned him about what would happen when he went in. He trusts me."

"He trusts Jinn," Sashri corrected with a hint of contempt, allowing Kerrov to lead her away from the hatch, more technicians waiting to help them down to the floor. Heading toward the huge transport, they heard the _Madellin-ki_'s engines power up behind them, increasing the noise in the hangar, and any lingering technicians detached the pump and scuttled away from the ship.

At Sashri's querying look, Kerrov smiled. "The _Madellin-ki_ is slaved to the transport's computer – Obi-Wan can leave the planet, but he won't get any farther without permission from us. I told him to go. I figured the sooner he's in space, the less chance he has of being rescued."

The High Priestess nodded, moving up the boarding ramp and turning slightly to watch the _Madellin-ki_ as it skidded sideways on its landing struts, realising that Obi-Wan was trying to figure out the ship's controls. The craft had no conventional method of steering; through the headset, the gloves that the Jedi wore were connected to the ship's onboard computer, allowing him to direct the ship by hand movements, emulating a set of controls.

However, a howling noise at the other end of the vast room drew all attention to the gaping maw of the open hangar doors, and Sashri could only stare in horror as a massive shadow sank down to block the exit. The warship nosed closer to the hangar, its engines deafening as the sound reverberated off the metal walls, and the laser cannon mounted beneath it was clearly locked on the Lamarin transport. A second ship dropped behind it, and beside her Kerrov gave a cry of triumph - the bounty hunters had returned, presumably to aid their recent contractors. But when the bounty hunters made no move against the warship, Kerrov's exclamation became a snarl of rage at the betrayal.

"What are we going to do?" Sashri shouted frantically, oblivious to the press of people around her as the remaining crew and personnel hurried to board the transport, seeking a false safety from the threat of the warship's cannon.

"The _Madellin-ki_ will take care of it," Kerrov reassured, his voice raised above the din.

"Obi-Wan won't attack his own people!"

"As far as Obi-Wan is concerned, _I'm_ his Master. He will attack." Kerrov was confident in his words, taking her elbow and guiding her up the ramp.

Finally, the _Madellin-ki_ bobbed into the air and retracted its landing struts, its rounded nose swinging like a dazed animal shaking its head, and it slid past the transport with a tentative burst from its thrusters, light scintillating on the outer hull. At the hangar's exit, the warship shifted closer to the floor, extending a ramp, and a figure emerged from inside the craft, emerald lightsaber activated and waving like a beacon, as though to warn off the approaching ship. Sashri seized Kerrov's arm tightly, halting his progress.

"Look!" she hissed, pointing wildly. "It's Jinn!"

Balanced on the ramp, Qui-Gon was signalling the _Madellin-ki_ to halt, clearly with no idea that it was his apprentice piloting the ship. However, the smaller craft veered uncertainly as it neared the warship, and it was obvious to Sashri that Obi-Wan had recognised his Master.

"It's not going to work," she moaned, inaudible amongst the whine of engines. While they could manipulate his mind, they couldn't fully suppress his Force-perceptions, and there was no doubt in Sashri that the Padawan now understood he had been deceived.

The _Madellin-ki_ was wobbling erratically, quite likely matching the movements of its pilot's shaking hands, and Sashri could only imagine the conflict within the boy's mind. He was already in a dangerous state, and the shock of finding himself presented with another Qui-Gon could be the final blow to his sanity. She watched the Jedi Master and saw him stiffen, his lightsaber lowering slowly, no doubt realising at least some of what was happening through his connection to the Force, and even from that distance she could see his mouth form Obi-Wan's name.

Unexpectedly, the glinting ship steadied and resumed its course toward the warship, angling to dart between the large craft and the floor. Seeing his Padawan's imminent escape, Qui-Gon leapt back up the ramp and disappeared from view, the warship sealing itself after him even as it shifted to block the _Madellin-ki_, but the response came too late and Obi-Wan slipped past, easily evading the bounty hunters and accelerating away into cloudless skies.

The warship backed up and wheeled into pursuit, leaving its companion ship to keep the Lamarin transport imprisoned within the hangar; the bounty hunters' craft had more than enough weaponry for the job. Sashri felt a helpless anger well up inside her. With the _Madellin-ki _slaved to the transport, Obi-Wan could get no farther than orbit, and now that he knew that Jinn was aboard the warship, he wouldn't attack…he would be caught.

She had lost him, and at the thought she released her control of the neural web, breaking her link to the meditation stone in her pocket.

* * *

The web thrummed inside Obi-Wan like a living thing, and outside the cockpit he could feel the ship – the _Dawning, _"Qui-Gon" had called it – pulsating in unison, the vibrations transmitted through the liquid he floated in. In his lungs and throat, the _thrana _felt cold and uncomfortable, and he was still struggling to overcome the initial shock of trying to breathe through it while he tried to keep control of the craft. There was no seat, but strong cords around his ankles anchored him in place, and this time he was grateful for the restraints.

Displays surrounded him, feeding him information about the pursuing warship and the planet's terrain; while the inner hull appeared opaque from the outside, from within it was perfectly transparent, providing him with an excellent, if disconcerting and even vertiginous, view of his surroundings. He was momentarily shocked to see long strips of charred vegetation and smoking craters scarring the landscape, all evidence of the warship's laser cannon.

An alarm sounded, and he closed his right hand into a fist, rotating it through ninety degrees. The _Dawning_ responded instantly, rolling away to starboard and narrowly missing a series of laser blasts from the warship.

Confusion was hammering at him, preventing him from thinking clearly, and he strove to push the uncertainty away. Qui-Gon was on that ship…he had seen his Master standing on the lowered ramp, and had recognised the Force-signature…but then, who had he been talking to before he had entered the _Dawning?_ And why was he being fired upon?

A blast struck one of the engines and the ship bucked, yawing wildly. Obi-Wan's arms shook with the effort of steadying the craft, his hands clenched tightly; the controls might be imagined, but the resistance from the _Dawning_ was all too real, pulling at the joints of his arms ruthlessly. The fluid around him helped to cushion his body, but the shuddering jarred him to his bones anyway, and he groaned aloud at the strain of holding the ship in check. A glance at one of the displays told him that the damage was nominal, and the _Dawning_ quickly came back under control, the drag on his arms lessening.

There was a familiar claustrophobia building inside him, provoked by the warship's attack, and he hauled the ship's nose up, breaking for orbit. From what he could discern about the _Dawning_, it was essentially a weapon that would amplify the neural web's effects, making a devastatingly strong Force-push far more destructive. The Force was already swarming around and into him, collecting not just in his body but filling the ship as well, and the power was stupefying; Obi-Wan knew that he was drawing energy from Qui-Gon, and whoever else the Master had brought with him, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. He could only try to get away before he hurt anyone.

Laser bolts continued to stripe the sky as he climbed, and the Force surged in reaction, seemingly buoying the ship into the planet's upper atmosphere. Buffeted by the aftershock of his passage, the warship swung into a parallel course and continued to follow him up. He barely noticed when the first spray of stars appeared in the sky, blue hazing into purple then finally into black as he left the planet's atmosphere, focused on the awful disjointed feeling that filled him.

It seemed to him that he had separated into two beings, or that the web itself had adopted its own personality. At one level, he was aware that his mind was no longer intact, deprived of knowledge and memories that allowed him to function; at another, his consciousness was based purely on an intuitive urge to process all available input, with little thought to what he had lost. But which one was dominant? Whatever the answer was, he needed guidance…

_The Force is a guide that transcends all others, for those with the wisdom to listen_. Qui-Gon had often said that, and his actions had always echoed his words, fuelling his decisions to disregard the Council at times. Perhaps that was the answer – yet how could Obi-Wan seek counsel from the Force when he feared the outcome, perhaps even feared the Force itself? Because of the web, and with the aid of the Force, he had killed three people at Banis, and he had almost destroyed the bounty hunters' ship and all aboard it. He had even attacked his Master. He wasn't a guardian, a _Jedi_, with this device inside him, causing him to do things that had more to do with self than self-sacrifice.

"_Stop it!_" Obi-Wan screamed, feeling another blast strike home, his voice muted by the liquid in his ears and throat but his crazed desperation clear, fear battling with an alien rage at the unprovoked attack. "_Master_,_** please**__!_" The web fed greedily from the Force, gorging itself, and it was a nauseating sensation that his beaten body was scarcely able to cope with, bordering on painful. Surely Qui-Gon could sense what was happening, yet the warship didn't desist or show any intention of breaking off.

_No more_, he thought savagely, flinging the _Dawning_ around and facing the warship. _No more killing_. If his pursuers were so intent on destroying him, so be it. His faith in the Force was gone; his faith in himself was gone; in that respect, his life had no meaning, and there was no point in continuing.

He was startled to feel the Force concentration around him ebbing, dispersing in calm waves, and the neural web deactivated with shocking swiftness, becoming cold and still inside his body. The imminent discharge had stalled, petering out like a storm, and his incredulity was so consuming that he forgot the oncoming warship, which had to swing hard to avoid him. Had that been the key to the neural web's power: his own instincts of self-preservation? He turned the _Dawning_ in a lazy spiral, spinning the ship on its port wing and relishing the quivering feedback that didn't come from Force-vibrations but from simple movement.

Bringing the _Dawning_ out of the loop, Obi-Wan saw the warship hanging in space at a close distance, no longer firing on him. He began to move toward it, but pulled away almost at once, realising that now would be an ideal time to escape – with a ship, he could lose himself in the galaxy, place himself in isolation until he had learned to deal with the Lamarin web. No thought was given to the vital knowledge that he was still slaved to the Lamarin transport on the planet, preventing him from leaving orbit around the planet.

A spasm in his throat pierced his thoughts, and the liquid in the cockpit suddenly clouded with red, reminding him of temporarily forgotten injuries and dispelling his notions of seclusion. Without medical attention, it was more than likely that the _Dawning _would be found adrift, with its pilot dead inside it, and then anyone might lay claim to it. He couldn't take that chance…and besides, he was tired of running.

There was a gathering in the Force, directed not by him but toward him, and it took him only seconds to recognise the source. Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan gasped in surprise and was abruptly overcome by his body attempting to initiate a bout of coughing despite the_ thrana _in his lungs_, _instinctively jerking his hands up toward his chest and neck. The _Dawning_ slewed violently in response, careering back in the direction of the warship. Obi-Wan, still fighting to adjust to the_ thrana_ again_, _managed to stabilise the craft's course enough to sideswipe the other ship rather than driving straight into it, and the _Dawning_ came to a halt at his command, drifting beside the warship, which seemed to have sustained little damage from the impact.

All he could see was red, the blood from his internal injuries colouring the cockpit fluid a dark crimson, and his body convulsed, crunching into a bent position as he hugged himself against the explosion of pain, the restraints pulling on his ankles and keeping him secure in the midst of his distress.

The _Dawning_ had begun to move when his struggles lessened, the spasms calming, and he absently noted that his rescue had come – the ship was being tractored. But it was too late. His body was shutting down, beyond help, and he fervently hoped that he would be dead by the time Qui-Gon got to him. At least then his Master wouldn't have to suffer the agony of watching him die.

* * *

tbc…


	10. Chapter 10

A monster of a chapter, this one! And the end is still nowhere in sight.

Author's note: Unfortunately, there's _another_ reference in this chapter, but it's not essential – this time, it's a tiny one for the dream at the beginning of part 8. It really is a very small reference and doesn't relate to any of the major points, so if you can't be bothered traipsing back to reread the dream that's okay…I'll understand. -

**Angst/mush warning!** I don't think it's excessive, but I just couldn't help myself! It had to happen sooner or later, right?

* * *

Gone From Danger - Part 10/?

* * *

Five Jedi waited anxiously in the cargo bay of the _Mercy Bound_, watching the ovoid shape of the Lamarin ship being guided in through the open doors. Qui-Gon stood at the centre of the gathering, with Ruya beside him; his friend had an arm about his shoulders, calming and supporting him in one gesture. The ship's similarities to Obi-Wan's meditation stone was eerie, as were the scars across the crystalline surface and the darkened sphere of the inner hull.

Noreif, hovering close to his former Master, appraised the craft with a technical eye, examining it for an access point. "The hatch must be in the roof," he advised, looking at Ruya.

The older Jedi nodded and tightened his arm around Qui-Gon's shoulders, feeling the man shift fretfully as the ship came to a rest on the deck of the cargo bay. With its landing struts still retracted, the craft rocked sideways on its curved belly and came to a rest leaning on one short wing. Qui-Gon pulled away from Ruya and motioned to Raeshin to follow him as he approached the ship; the roof was low enough to jump up to with only minimal assistance from the Force, and he knelt to unlock the hatch's seal, peering inside.

"It's flooded!" he shouted down to the other Jedi, reaching into the open hatch and touching the surface of the liquid, a few handbreadths below the seal.

"Then we'll have to cut it open," Ruya responded, dipping his head toward Tiperis.

The Knight drew her lightsaber and approached the ship with the yellow blade ignited, pausing beside the craft and patting at it cautiously with her fingers, then with the tip of her lightsaber. The material of the outer hull hissed quietly and softened yieldingly at the light touch; in a single, deft movement, Tiperis thrust the blade of her lightsaber through the fuselage and penetrated the inner hull, heaving upward and widening the hole she had created. She retreated quickly as fluid began to pour out, her lightsaber spitting at the contact, and she shut it off at once to avoid shorting it out, watching a growing puddle forming on the deck. It looked for all the galaxy like the strange Lamarin craft was bleeding, the liquid spilling down its metal flank a diluted red in colour, and the sight unsettled her enormously.

On top of the ship, Qui-Gon was lowering himself feet first into the hatch, almost doubled over as he tried to see into the cockpit. "Obi-Wan?" he called out cautiously, mindful of Raeshin's warning about his Padawan's possible state of mind.

From his position, he could see the back of a bowed head and slumped body, a headset discarded on the concave deck beside him, and the distinctive ponytail of an apprentice easily identified it as Obi-Wan. There wasn't enough room in the tiny cockpit for Qui-Gon, and he had to contort his large frame slightly to get a better look, craning his neck. "Padawan!" He stretched his arm down, straining to get a hold of the boy, and managed to snag the shoulder of his drenched jumpsuit, trying to drag him closer. When he met resistance, it took him a few moments to realise that Obi-Wan's ankles were bound, but he was quick to release them with the Force. The sheer weight of him was enough to inform Qui-Gon that he was barely conscious, and his movements became more urgent, fairly hauling the young Jedi up through the hatch.

Pink liquid dribbled out of Obi-Wan's mouth, and as Qui-Gon pushed him out of the ship onto the roof the impact seemed to shock his body into reaction, his lungs spasming reflexively to expel the fluid that had remained in his body after the cockpit had been drained. He rolled onto his side, vomiting up the liquid, but the pink colouration rapidly darkened to red as yet another coughing fit settled in.

Alarmed, Qui-Gon gathered Obi-Wan into his arms and held him tightly, trying to soothe his convulsions through Force-suggestion, but the spasms only worsened, until finally Qui-Gon released his apprentice and pressed his own body over Obi-Wan's, trying to hold the jerking boy down. Raeshin was shouting up at him, but he was unable to hear the Healer's words, focused solely on the horrifying sight of his Padawan shuddering beneath him.

At last, with a thin, drawn-out cry, Obi-Wan stiffened and collapsed, the seizure abating quickly into fitful trembling as he fought to catch his breath. Qui-Gon allowed himself a fleeting moment of relief, lifting his weight from Obi-Wan and searching his dull, pained gaze, trying to assess how much damage had been generated while he placed the palm of one hand on the boy's chest and eased the hitch in his respiration with the Force.

"Obi-Wan?" he urged, gently wiping blood from his Padawan's face with the sleeve of his robe.

The younger Jedi blinked at him, his glazed eyes clearing slightly, and he reached up slowly, touching Qui-Gon's cheek with trembling fingers, exploring further as though trying to convince himself that his Master wasn't an illusion. After several moments of silence, Obi-Wan smiled weakly in recognition and pulled his hand away; impulsively, Qui-Gon caught it in both of his own and held it against his chest.

"Master." The voice was a sighing whisper, the clarity in his gaze fading. "I'm sorry."

"For what, Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon asked, sensing Raeshin climbing up beside them and trying to keep his Padawan conscious.

"I…I didn't want you to see this…" Obi-Wan replied, his words slurred, and his eyes wandered aimlessly, half-closed.

Raeshin had joined them, leaning over Obi-Wan and calling the Force to aid his examination. The look on the Healer's face only confirmed what Qui-Gon had suspected, and he pressed Obi-Wan's hand more tightly to his chest as though to alleviate the ache that was massing there. "His internal organs are shutting down."

The breath left Qui-Gon at Raeshin's diagnosis, and for precious moments he fought to quell the emotions threatening to tear him apart. "How long?" he demanded quietly, watching Obi-Wan struggle to remain conscious.

"He's going into shock. We have a few hours, at best." Raeshin's face was sorrowful, but his gaze was contemplative. "However, I believe the neural implant has finally matured. It was its growth that prevented me from repairing the damage when Obi-Wan first collapsed – it was causing harm faster than I could heal it. Now that it has finished developing, his injuries should be treatable. If we had access to medical facilities, or even a bacta tank…"

From the deck of the cargo bay, Noreif spoke up. "The _Mercy Bound_ has only limited facilities, and no bacta tank. There aren't any populated planets in this system, or the neighbouring ones. The Lamari chose their site well – no one around to interfere," he commented with a frown.

"But the Lamari themselves might have facilities in their installation," Ruya said. "I doubt they had originally intended to send Obi-Wan out in this condition, but they must have felt they had no other choice when the _Mercy Bound_ attacked." He plucked his comlink from his belt and gave the pilot instructions to relay a message to Mek'Lee's ship, requesting them to search the installation for a sickbay or some form of bacta tank.

Qui-Gon listened with half an ear, most of his attention still on Obi-Wan, who was slipping inexorably into unconsciousness. Although Qui-Gon had refused to consider the possibility that he might find his Padawan dead, the fact that he _was_ alive astounded the Jedi Master considering the ordeal that he must have been subjected to. He could only guess at how Obi-Wan had managed to cope with the stress, and the pain, without assistance from the Force. It spoke volumes about his apprentice's strength of will, but even that was dwindling now, replaced by the same terrible resignation that Obi-Wan had shown on Banis, when he had told Qui-Gon of his visions. He had given up, and seemed to care little about whether or not he survived.

_But I do_. _**I**__ care_, he thought, moving and cradling Obi-Wan's head in his lap, touching the boy's face and skimming his fingertips across his bandaged cheek. "Padawan, don't leave me." His plea and his voice were broken, the emotion inside him too great to be suppressed, innocently echoing the entreaty that Obi-Wan had heard in his last premonition. The air of the hangar felt charged with the presence of the Force, drawn to the semi-conscious Jedi, but Qui-Gon knew that this time, the Force could be of no help, not while the neural implant was still in Obi-Wan's body.

All any of them could do was wait. If the bounty hunters failed to find a medical facility on the planet, then there wasn't a hope in the galaxy for Obi-Wan.

* * *

Days later, he was still waiting. The bounty hunters had located a bacta tank, thank the Force, and that was where Obi-Wan had remained for nearly a week, healing steadily but showing no signs of regaining consciousness. Qui-Gon had stayed with him for most of that time, but now he couldn't bear to be in that room any longer, leaving the Healer to watch over his Padawan while he roamed the Lamarin complex restlessly. He had tried to keep himself occupied by investigating the rest of the levels, yet he kept returning to the thought that even Raeshin was worried by the slow rate of Obi-Wan's recovery.

With the assistance of the installation's medical equipment, which was on a par to the Temple's, Raeshin had concluded that there was no way to remove the implant. It had bonded itself to Obi-Wan's nervous system at a cellular level where it was all but impossible to operate, and bacta, which was more suited to healing injuries, would have no effect on it. Using the Force to dismantle it molecule by molecule would simply risk setting it off. The affected areas of his brain were also untreatable, and just how much damage the implant had done couldn't be ascertained until Obi-Wan woke up. Raeshin had already warned of memory loss and erratic behaviour, as well as emotional disturbance and possible lack of motor control. If that was the case, Obi-Wan would be facing physical _and_ mental rehabilitation.

And then there was the problem of the Senate's ruling. Unless the implant was removed, Obi-Wan wouldn't be allowed near a populated planet for the rest of his life. The non-aligned worlds, like several in the Outer Rim, might offer some leeway, but any planet that was part of the Republic was certainly off-limits. What worried Qui-Gon most was that his Padawan couldn't return to the Temple…how would that affect him? Valorum had offered some optimism – if it could be proven that Obi-Wan could control the implant and was therefore not a danger to others, then the ruling would be relaxed, possibly even overturned. The Chancellor had needed to cajole many of the more sceptical senators into agreeing to this condition, and Qui-Gon was grateful to the man for his consideration, but the principal difficulty remained. How could Obi-Wan continue to train as a Jedi when accessing the Force caused the implant to activate? Then again, they knew so little about the neural web…perhaps triggering it required more than merely opening oneself to the Force.

Now standing on the walkway above the hangar, Qui-Gon rested his elbows on the railing and stared at the activity below, focused in particular on the crystalline ship. The blast marks on its surface had apparently repaired themselves, and the breach in its hull made by Tiperis' lightsaber had resealed. The craft was a conundrum to the Jedi, one that the Lamari had refused to help solve. He had spoken to Sashri very briefly, a day or so after the Jedi had seized the hidden installation, but she had shown no remorse for her actions; even employing calming techniques, Qui-Gon had been unable to remain in her presence for long. To think that Obi-Wan had grieved for the woman after her supposed death… The head scientist, Kerrov, was also keeping silent on his part in the situation.

As Ruya had speculated earlier, the Lamari here on the planet must have intended to repair at least some of the injuries caused by the implant before putting Obi-Wan into the ship, but Qui-Gon couldn't understand why they had delayed so long. They must have known that there would be Jedi out searching – according to the Council, there had been almost fifty teams of Jedi despatched throughout the galaxy to find Obi-Wan, and those Knights on active missions had been instructed to keep a watch on the events in their region of space. Of course, it had been the bounty hunters responsible for the massive search who had brought it to an end, but the enormity of the effort, and the political concern that had fuelled it, wasn't lost on Qui-Gon. Apparently, the Lamari had underestimated the response to Obi-Wan's abduction, but their indifference to his Padawan's condition shocked the Jedi Master even now. They had had the technology to heal the worst of his injuries, yet they had left him locked up, quite probably in a great deal of pain. Had it been out of spite? Or had they tried to wear him down through physical suffering? Qui-Gon had no real answers, and he had to admit to himself that he didn't really want any. The situation was hard enough to take without adding vindictive motives to it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone strolling down the catwalk toward him and come to a stop a few metres away, leaning against the railing. Another puzzle he couldn't comprehend.

Mek'Lee looked at him. "How's your apprentice?" she asked quietly.

"Alive," Qui-Gon replied, deliberately avoiding her eyes. The bounty hunter stirred uncomfortably at his hostility and followed his gaze down to the mysterious ship.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry for attacking you. I actually have a great deal of respect for the Jedi, although it might not seem like it."

"Is that why you helped us?" Qui-Gon's question was bitter, and he looked at her coldly. "Out of respect?"

Mek'Lee fell silent, studying the crystalline ship. "She made fools out of us all, Master Jinn," she said at last.

"Retribution, then."

"No!" the woman snapped, anger colouring her voice, and her claws popped out of their sheaths; she stared at them, perplexed, yet made no effort to hide them. "I felt _regret_, perhaps for the first time in years. Is that really so hard to believe? As a bounty hunter, I've killed any number of beings with a debt to pay, but no amount of money could relieve my guilt when I handed that boy over to the Lamari. He could have destroyed my ship easily, and myself and my team along with it, but he spared our lives, and it wasn't because he didn't want to die himself. I helped you find him because I had my own debt to pay."

It was Qui-Gon's turn for awkwardness, taken-aback by Mek'Lee's outburst. She came a couple of steps closer, the anger fading from her face. "I didn't come to you seeking an absolution that I know you can't give me," she went on, pausing beside him with a hand resting on the railing, the tips of her claws drumming lightly on the hollow metal. "In fact, I deserve every harsh word that you have inside you – and I don't need your Force powers to sense that you have plenty. But I still have that obligation to your apprentice, and I would like to fulfil it as best I can." She took a breath, her eyes uncertain. "I can find a place for you to hole up, one that's far more effective than that Jedi planet I found you on, where Obi-Wan will be safe from the likes of bounty hunters such as myself. And I'm offering my ship to protect you while you're there."

Qui-Gon's distrust was obvious as he folded his arms; his hands remained exposed, a calculated omission from the customary Jedi display of deference. "And if I decline?"

Mek'Lee looked defeated, and she scratched at the surface of the railing, scoring the metal. "That is your choice, and I will respect it. But please, take a little time to think about it. Just because you have custody of Sashri and her cohort doesn't mean that the Lamari will no longer be a threat. And once word gets out, there will be others who will go to any lengths to obtain the weapon that your boy has become, people with intentions much more sinister than anything the Lamari had planned. The galaxy might seem immense, but believe me, even Jedi will find themselves quickly running out of hiding places…"

She trailed off as the powerful lights in the hangar flickered and dimmed, and Qui-Gon silenced his intended reply to her words, reaching out to the Force in search of an explanation. It was then that he staggered under an invisible blow, and both he and Mek'Lee were shoved back along the walkway by its strength. Beneath them, the four ships occupying the hangar shrieked in protest as they were shunted to one side, scraping along the floor. The lights blew out, plunging the vast room into shadow, nightmarish sounds of rending metal filling the air, and Qui-Gon felt the bounty hunter's nervous touch on his sleeve, heard her breath quicken in fear.

"What was that?" she gasped, her voice disembodied in the total blackness that had shrouded the hangar.

Qui-Gon didn't answer, thrown by the power he had perceived and the repercussions that pulsed through the Force long seconds after the actual push had occurred, knowing full well that there was only one person on this planet capable of such a manifestation, and the darkness that had tainted the Force's energies concerned him greatly. Snatching his sleeve from Mek'Lee fingers, he broke into a run, making his way back to the medical bay three levels below the hangar. The distress he sensed grew exponentially the closer he got to his destination, disturbing emotions pushing at his mind and causing him to recoil from their touch. By the Force, what was going on down there?

Like the hangar, much of the lower floors were in gloom, the artificial lighting destroyed by the immense Force-push, and in the sections of corridor that were still illuminated he noted cracks in the stone floor and warping of the walls, the metal twisted severely out of shape. In some places, slabs of stone had been completely ripped up, littering the passageways, and whole sheets of wall and ceiling plating hung loose, frequently catching at his robe.

By the time he had reached the third floor beneath the hangar, negotiating the debris was becoming a problem. The entire corridor leading to the medical bay had been compressed to half its normal width, and there was a sizeable gap in the floor where it had collapsed. The walls had buckled into the corridor, but there was enough space to allow Qui-Gon to pass through.

As he was preparing himself to cross the hole in the floor, gathering the Force to aid his leap, he detected movement farther down the darkened corridor and paused, watching a shadow detach from the murk and move out into the light. It was Obi-Wan, still dressed in the grey jumpsuit and gloves, bacta solution dripping from clumps of short, soaked hair onto his face and puddling on the stone floor around his bare feet. The young Jedi stopped just short of the hole, his head down, and Qui-Gon noted the headset that had been taken from the Lamarin ship now dangled in one gloved hand. There was no sign of Raeshin.

"Obi-Wan?" he prompted gently, made wary by the warnings in the Force.

The fingers of the Padawan's free hand flexed by his side and his head rose sluggishly; the expression that he wore was one of bewilderment and mild panic, looking at his Master vacantly. He blinked heavily, returning focus and a semblance of intelligence to his gaze, but the glow of muted sentience darkened rapidly with burgeoning malevolence.

"Get out of here," Obi-Wan growled, his hand twitching a second time.

"Obi-Wan, please tell me what's wrong." Qui-Gon remained where he was, worried by the intensity of his apprentice's anger and almost certain that he knew who it was aimed at.

"Just _go!_" Obi-Wan wailed, tears in his eyes as his hand lifted toward Qui-Gon, and the man quickly backed away at the blatant threat.

"What's happened to you, Padawan?" he asked softly.

"I've lost everything…" Obi-Wan moaned, his panic growing, "…even you…but I can get it all back, _I can!_" With the hand that clutched the headset, he tapped harshly at the side of his head. "They can take it out! I'll _make_ them take it out!"

And again, it came back to the neural web. It seemed that the Lamarin implant was pivotal to several occurrences in the past few months, not least the events on Dareela that Qui-Gon still hadn't come to fully understand. Seeing Obi-Wan in such a dangerous position now, surely on the breaking point between Light and Dark, perhaps even life and death, emphasised the web's total control, and Qui-Gon's own helplessness.

"Obi-Wan, let me come over," Qui-Gon said, motioning to the hole between them. "I can help –"

"Don't…" The boy held up an emphatic, restraining finger, a whimper of distress contradicting the anger that the Jedi Master could feel rising inside him. There was shame in his manner too, and his shoulders hunched as he ducked his head, breaking from Qui-Gon's gaze. "I-I hurt someone…"

Qui-Gon flinched slightly at the words, staring at his Padawan. "Raeshin," he whispered, a hand lifting partway to his mouth in an instinctive gesture of shock.

"I didn't mean to!" Obi-Wan blurted, his eyes darting up again. "It just…happened." The fear that had enclosed him was fleeing, chased by a dangerous fury, and when he shrugged there was defiance in the movement, his mood changing sharply. "It wasn't my fault!" he shouted, flinging his arm in a broad sweep, the Force rallying to his silent call, and the corridor heaved and shook with the strength of his blow, dust scattering down from the stone ceiling above them.

Qui-Gon couldn't help a startled cry as the slabs beneath his feet shifted, and he staggered to keep his balance. The hole in the floor was collapsing further, widening the gap between himself and Obi-Wan, whose face was a dark mask of rage. "You should have let me die!" he howled, tears crawling down his cheeks. "I can't hold it back anymore!" He stooped over, apparently in pain, but the mounting energy that was gathering around his bent figure and the keening, animalistic whine that emerged from his throat were far more ominous.

"Obi-Wan, calm yourself!" Qui-Gon called, his tone demanding. "Padawan! _Cease!_"

The harsh command brought the young Jedi's face up once more; his nose and ears were bleeding, and his mouth gaped open with the effort of breathing. "Run, Master," he gasped, lifting the headset and pulling it on, then stumbling toward the hole. "I…I have to leave."

A rumble seemed to pass through the entire installation, but it wasn't enough to distract Qui-Gon. "No, Obi-Wan. We'll find a way to help you, but you must stay here!"

"It's too late." Obi-Wan shook his head violently, coming to a halt near the gap. The knot of Force power around him was swelling, approaching the neural web's discharge level, and there was a darkness revealing itself in Obi-Wan, borne of the lack of emotional control caused by the Lamarin implant in his brain, intensifying almost in sync with the accumulation of the Force. "Don't you understand? If I stay, people will be hurt, or _killed_."

With a minute extension of his fingers, he vented the massing power into a substantial Force-push, and the lights that had survived his initial blast died, blackness immediately filling the corridor. Qui-Gon was knocked backward, stumbling into the buckled wall, and he strained to find Obi-Wan's presence, but his Force-signature had been obscured so drastically by the neural web that it was unrecognisable to him. The slap of bare feet on stone nearby told him that Obi-Wan had made the leap across the hole, and he swung out toward the sound, catching hold of an arm and pulling the boy against him. Expecting resistance, he was surprised to feel Obi-Wan clutch at him in the gloom, shivering in his embrace and pressing his cheek into the older Jedi's tunic. The uncontrollable ire was gone, as if expelled from his mind in the Force-push.

"Come with me."

His voice was soft, almost inaudible; Qui-Gon doubted that anyone without a Jedi's enhanced senses would have heard the words, but they couldn't have affected him more if they had been shouted. Freeing one arm, he touched Obi-Wan's face and found it upturned against his chest. "Where are you going to go, Padawan?" he asked, stroking his cheek soothingly. He knew there was little time for tenderness, but he sensed that Obi-Wan desperately needed it. If he was truthful with himself, he had to confess that after the repeated separations from his apprentice, he needed it as well.

"Please…" The teenager's hand grasped his and pressed Qui-Gon's palm flat against his forehead. "I might have lost you up here," he murmured, "but I can still feel you here." He moved the hand and positioned it above his heart. "I don't want to be alone anymore."

Qui-Gon paused, his breath catching in his throat. "All right, Padawan," he sighed, smiling faintly at the answering sob of relief. He rubbed Obi-Wan's back gently as he considered the situation. Although he disliked agreeing with the bounty hunter, Mek'Lee was right: it would only be a matter of time until others tracked Obi-Wan down, out of greed for either money or power, or both, and he doubted that he could protect the boy on his own. Perhaps he had no choice but to accept Mek'Lee's offer of aid. "Obi-Wan, I can't do this without help. Do you trust me?"

"Implicitly."

There was an edge in the word that made Qui-Gon frown, and he made a mental note of it. "I'm sure you won't always feel like that, young one," he commented lightly, hoping to lift the hard emotions in Obi-Wan, and was pleased to hear a low chuckle. "For the moment, though, we can't leave. There is nowhere else the implant can be accurately studied." He shushed the boy's immediate protestations. "I have learned of a place where we can hide later, but it means placing our confidence with people we would normally oppose."

"You're reluctant to," Obi-Wan observed, his head shifting against Qui-Gon's chest. "Is it because of who they are, or because they've wronged you?"

Qui-Gon started. "What?" he asked, astonished by the question and by his Padawan's perception.

Obi-Wan released his hand and pulled away from the Jedi Master, who was aware of a tug at his belt, then a familiar snap-hiss as his lightsaber was activated, casting an aura of green light around them. His face was calm and compliant, cast in shadows and severe angles by the glow as he lowered the lightsaber to a non-threatening position, reassuring Qui-Gon that his weapon hadn't been drawn against him. The headset, still in place, gleamed faintly. "You're not usually so quick to condemn people unless their actions have already proven them untrustworthy," he explained with a small, lopsided smile. "My memory may be in pieces, but I do remember that." He wiped at his bleeding nose with the back of his gloved hand in a rather childish gesture. "Who is it?"

"Bounty hunters," Qui-Gon replied tersely, watching Obi-Wan's eyebrows lift in shock. "The same ones who captured you."

For a moment, Qui-Gon thought that his apprentice would succumb to his anger again, and indeed there was the beginnings of that same fearful rage in Obi-Wan's eyes, the first hint of Dark leaching into the Force, but he appeared to dispel it with a shake of the head. "That's why you're so unwilling," he said quietly, looking at the broken stone under his feet. "I can see why." He fell silent for a few seconds, then lifted his head to meet Qui-Gon's anxious gaze. "There's no other way?" he asked bleakly. It was more a question made of hopelessness than genuine curiosity.

"No. I'm sorry, Obi-Wan."

"Then we'll have to believe in them, honourable or not," the boy remarked, waving aside his Master's apology. He moved a few steps away and extended the lightsaber sideways, holding it out over the hole close by. "You should help Raeshin," he said, his back to the tall Jedi as he stared down into the yawning shadow. "I didn't mean to hurt him…I was afraid, and the implant just activated itself."

Qui-Gon joined him, removing his robe and wrapping it around Obi-Wan like an oversized blanket, then put a hand on his shoulder. "I know, Padawan."

"I didn't want any of this to happen…" Obi-Wan's shoulder hunched beneath Qui-Gon's touch. "Did I deserve this, Master?"

"No!" He turned the boy abruptly and saw the sheen of tears in his eyes, dejection pressing his mouth into a thin line. "Why would you say that?"

"It feels like there's a flaw inside me," Obi-Wan answered desolately. "One that's always been there but scared me too much to acknowledge until it was too late. When I was younger, I found it difficult to restrain my anger…now, it dominates me no matter how hard I try to resist."

"That's not your fault, Padawan," Qui-Gon corrected, squeezing his shoulder. "Yes, you were headstrong – when I met you, I believed that you were stubborn and reckless, perhaps a little too easily riled by others. But there was far more to you than what I saw, what I _wanted_ to see, and you've grown so much since then." He paused to ease Obi-Wan's mesh-like headset off, dropping it to the floor. "Your recent actions were outside of your control. If there is blame to cast here, Padawan, it is _not_ with you."

Obi-Wan remained still, staring up at him with a doubtful expression. "I wish I could believe that…but thank you for your faith in me," he whispered, then rubbed his eyes. "Go," he said with a feeble push to the older Jedi's chest, pointing across the hole with the lightsaber. "I don't know how badly hurt Raeshin is, and I don't want someone else to die because of me this wretched implant."

"We'll go together," Qui-Gon responded with a compassionate smile. "And try to remember that it wasn't your intention to harm Raeshin."

He studied his apprentice's face, gaunt from lack of nourishment and unnaturally pale in the lightsaber's illumination, before motioning for Obi-Wan to make the jump back over the hole toward the medical bay. The boy hesitated, and the sudden huddle in his posture immediately betrayed his fear of using the Force to assist him; obviously, not even he had managed to learn enough about the neural web, through his own painful experiences, to know exactly how it was activated. However, Qui-Gon was beginning to favour the idea that the implant was tied to, if not dependent on, its host's emotional or mental state, and perhaps triggered during periods of distress rather than by active usage of the Force. That conclusion would explain both the massive Force-wave at Banis, and the more minor occurrence on the haven planet – in both cases, Obi-Wan had felt threatened to some degree, and his emotional response would have been unconscious. Qui-Gon also had no doubt that something similar had happened just now. But that supposition didn't hold true for Obi-Wan's actions on the bounty hunters' ship; from what Qui-Gon had heard from Mek'Lee, the teenager had deliberately used the web in an attempt to escape.

"It's all right, Padawan," he said, turning his focus away from the theories surfacing in his thoughts. "Let me help."

Obi-Wan nodded gratefully and hugged his body against Qui-Gon's, allowing the Jedi Master to carry him across the gap in the floor, keeping the ignited blade of the lightsaber well away from the older man's back. As soon as they had landed safely, Obi-Wan released his grip and stepped away, his movements hurried as he led the way into the medical bay, Qui-Gon's robe trailing on the floor around him. If the circumstances had been different, Qui-Gon might have mistaken his sudden agitation for eagerness, but he recognised it now as desperation – his apprentice was anxious to find Raeshin alive.

Compared to what he had seen of the rest of the complex on his way down here, the medical bay itself was relatively unharmed, with several of the lights intact and functioning. The most noticeable casualty of Obi-Wan's first Force-push was the transparisteel bacta tank in the centre of the large room, the base undamaged but the tank itself shattered, quite probably beyond repair, and a great puddle of bacta pooling on the floor surrounding it. As he examined it, he heard a shuffling movement beyond the ruined tank, and a head appeared, the face distorted by the fractured transparisteel still affixed to the base of the tank.

"Healer Raeshin!" Qui-Gon gave a silent sigh of relief as the slender man rose from the floor. There was a hint of maroon in his pale hair, and he clutched his ribs in obvious pain, but he appeared to be otherwise unhurt, the expression on his face one of unwavering concern. "How badly were you injured?"

"No matter about me, Master Jinn," Raeshin answered brusquely, rounding the bacta tank to stand with Qui-Gon. "Where is…?" He halted when he caught sight of Obi-Wan, who had retreated to a corner of the room, the deactivated lightsaber held tightly against his chest as he huddled in the folds of Qui-Gon's robe.

"I-I am sorry for my actions, Healer," Obi-Wan stammered at once, lowering his head. "I won't try to lessen my transgression by giving you excuses…I have none. I allowed my fear to control me, and I failed to keep my im-" He stopped abruptly, and even with his head down Qui-Gon could see the boy's eyes widen in shock, his frail composure slipping. "I failed to keep the implant in check."

How much had that error cost Obi-Wan, considering his blatant revulsion of the device inside him? The young Jedi was visibly shaken, trembling where he stood, and tears had risen in his eyes yet again. _My implant_. The intended words, however inadvertent they might have been, pained Qui-Gon, and he watched his apprentice sorrowfully while Obi-Wan struggled with his emotions.

"You're forgiven, Obi-Wan."

Qui-Gon stared at Raeshin, his hand reaching out to grasp his arm in admonition, but the Healer kept his gaze on the Padawan. By accepting the apology, surely Raeshin realised that he was placing blame on Obi-Wan for a situation that he hadn't been responsible for? Protectiveness surged in Qui-Gon, and he made to verbally correct Raeshin. A firm, warning glance from the Healer silenced him immediately.

After a few seconds, Obi-Wan finally looked up and there was a small smile of gratitude on his face. "Thank you, Healer," he said with a formal bow, then approached the two men and held the lightsaber out to his Master. Qui-Gon, startled by Obi-Wan's unexpected lift in mood, took it without a word.

"Well…I had better see to these ribs," Raeshin remarked, patting his chest delicately, then turned to Qui-Gon. "Obi-Wan is out of the bacta tank sooner than I would have liked, but there's nothing I can do about it now," he said with a wave at the remains of the tank. "Find him somewhere to sleep and let him rest for a while. Hopefully, at least one of these machines will have recorded something useful when the implant activated." He indicated the equipment around them, most of which looked intact.

Qui-Gon nodded and took Obi-Wan's elbow, gently guiding him toward the open door and the dark corridor beyond. "Thank you," he said sincerely, turning at the doorway. There was a flicker of a smile from Raeshin, and the Healer inclined his head in understanding. Focusing his attention on his apprentice, he began to lead him away down the corridor, in the opposite direction of the hole; farther down, he was able to make out the glow of lighting strips and didn't bother to turn on his 'saber to guide their way. However, he stopped after only a few steps, aware that Obi-Wan wasn't following. In the light from the medical bay, the teenager was standing with his hand outstretched, facing back toward the gap in the floor; there was a hesitant swirl of the Force, and an object flew out of the darkness into his waiting grasp.

The _Madellin-ki_'s headset.

"Padawan? What are you doing?"

When Obi-Wan looked at Qui-Gon, there was a fleeting, baleful shadow in his eyes. "I have a feeling I'm going to need this," he answered, hefting the device, and his voice bore a certainty that the Jedi Master now knew better than to contradict.

Unquestionably, something was going to happen…and he doubted it would be of benefit to any of them.

* * *

Sealed in one of the cabins in the grounded Lamarin transport, Sashri leaned against the locked door, her head tipped back as she stared up at the metal ceiling. Kerrov watched her fervently from one of the cabin's sleep couches, something approaching reverence in his eyes.

"Do you think they suspect?" he asked earnestly, resting his elbows on his knees and cupping his chin in one palm. The beard he had worn to impersonate Qui-Gon Jinn was gone, but the surgical alterations had yet to be reversed.

"They know nothing," Sashri replied softly, lifting her clenched hand and uncurling her fingers to reveal the pulsing meditation stone hidden within. "And they can do nothing."

* * *

tbc…


	11. Chapter 11

Where on earth have the last six-odd months gone? Huge, heartfelt apologies for keeping everyone waiting! I had no intention of taking this long, but the break has done me good. Thanks for everyone's continued support, it's made all my hard work worthwhile!

Author's notes: There's a lot of explanation and build-up in this chapter that I just couldn't get around – I had to lay the groundwork for the next chapter. There was a good deal of material I had to cover, which is why this chapter chops and changes quite a lot. Hopefully, I've managed to tie almost everything together now, so expect to see the end of this fic quite soon. (Never thought I'd get round to saying that!)

* * *

Gone From Danger - Part 11/?

* * *

In the enormous hangar of the Lamari installation, Obi-Wan sat cross-legged on the floor beside the _Dawning,_ picking uninterestedly at a tray of food. He couldn't deny the fact that he was hungry, but the thought of actually eating anything made him queasy, and eventually he pushed the tray away from him and turned instead to the other object resting on the floor in front of him: the _Dawning_'s headset. Absently, he reached out and ran a finger across one of the strips of the metal lattice, pausing to rub lightly at the tiny sensors, then craned his neck back to look at the _Dawning_, which appeared upside-down from that angle.

By tomorrow morning, all the ships in the hangar and their respective passengers would be gone – the huge Lamarin transport was due to leave for Coruscant tonight, escorted by the Dinisian ship _Mercy Bound_, which would return to Dinis afterwards; the bounty hunters' craft was to depart at dawn to take the Jedi to Mek'Lee's promised safe location. Something inside Obi-Wan protested fiercely against this migration to yet another so-called haven, and even more against the fact that he only had Mek'Lee's words of assurance on which to base his trust. Had it not been for his faith in Qui-Gon and his respect for his Master's judgement, he would have refused to believe that the bounty hunter could hold good intentions.

He should have been happy, or at the very least relieved, that things were finally getting better, yet during the last three days all he had been capable of was despair. What good did it do him, now that Sashri and the other Lamari had been apprehended? The implant was still inside his body, branding him an outcast indefinitely. Things were _supposed_ to be getting better, but with regard to his immediate situation it hadn't changed at all. In some respects, it was actually deteriorating. It was only the fourth day since he had woken in the tank, but in even that short time he had been overtaken by depression and his mood was still worsening, to the point now where he was irritable with everyone around him, including his Master. Qui-Gon and the other Jedi had done everything they could to be patient, to show that they understood…and he resented them for it, ashamed as he was to admit it to himself.

He had managed to regain a fair portion of his memories, but his access to them was sporadic and he was prone to frequent lapses; for example, the recent episode when he had come close to destroying the whole installation was now strangely unreachable. He remembered waking in the bacta tank in a wild panic and the unbridled Force-push he had used to escape the medical bay…after that, he could recall little, although he sensed that something had passed between himself and Qui-Gon. Not knowing what had been said or done disappointed him, and all he could do was hope that the memory would return with time. Until then, he could only wonder at the emotion in his Master's eyes when the older Jedi looked at him.

Obi-Wan sighed and stared at the _Dawning_'s headset. Despite appearances to the contrary, he was slowly beginning to accept the reality of the life that lay ahead of him. He knew it was highly unlikely that a way would be found to safely remove the implant, and though he'd been unable to banish that hope completely, he had quickly discarded it to the back of his mind. In a way, the knowledge made it simpler, though not any easier, to begin to plan ahead, to design a future that would allow him to remain a Jedi by utilising the neural web instead of recoiling from it. Every day, he was growing more adept at using the web to manipulate the Force, and he was gradually losing his fear of the implant, coming to see it as a tool rather than a weapon forced upon him.

With a slow, measured exhalation, Obi-Wan closed his eyes and centred himself, adjusting to the eddies of the Force around him and regulating his breathing and pulse. Once he was certain that he had achieved an adequate level of peace, he activated the neural web inside him and reached out with the Force to lift the headset. Unlike before, there was no dramatic rush of power into his body - the Force levels around him fluctuated only slightly and his emotions remained calm.

A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as he opened his eyes and looked at the floating headset, revelling in his ability to touch the Force again without the worry that he might cause another disaster. He knew he could quite easily lift any object in the hangar, even the Lamarin transport, but it was much more satisfying to accomplish this small task.

While it hadn't fully registered amidst the emotional and physical suffering he had undergone, part of his misery had stemmed from believing that, although it continued to surround him, he had lost the Force. At those times when it had shrunk away from him, he had felt like a child denied the approval of a parent. Now that he had regained his confidence in his abilities, it no longer mattered to him that this was a potentially dangerous artificial bond with the Force, or that others might view it as such. Through the web, he had never known such an intimate insight into the Living Force, at times so intense it was overwhelming, reminiscent of that first wondrous union he had experienced on Dareela.

Stronger yet was his amplified receptivity to the Unifying Force, which surpassed any other effect of the neural web. Consequently, his visions had now extended to his waking hours where before they had been limited to dreams, and they were coming much more frequently – in the space of the last three days he had had at least twenty distinct visions, some lasting up to two or three hours but more commonly taking only minutes to run their course. Most of these were minor predictions and had so far proven accurate; however, there was a recurring subject in several of the lengthier visions, a repetition of the dream in which he had had to choose between Sashri and Qui-Gon. He still wasn't sure whether they were to be taken at face value, that sometime in the future he would have to make such a decision, or if there was a deeper meaning – for example, having to decide between the Jedi Order, represented by Qui-Gon in the dreams, and another party, represented by Sashri.

Grimacing, he pushed the dark thoughts away and released his hold on the headset, letting it fall into his lap, then shifted around to study the small, glinting bulk of the _Dawning_. The decision had been made to bring the ship with them to wherever Mek'Lee had in mind – that was to say, Obi-Wan had made the decision, and the others had reluctantly consented. He was determined to learn to pilot the _Dawning_ properly, and flying it would be a definitive test of his restraint over the neural web. If they were going to prove to the Senate that he wasn't a threat then they would need all the evidence they could gather.

Obi-Wan reached an arm up to stroke the ship's round, transparent belly, feeling the material warm rapidly to his touch. There was so much potential for the _Dawning_ to be used peacefully, rather than as the weapon it had been designed for, if Obi-Wan could learn to utilise the web appropriately. Getting the Senate to see it as anything more than a so-called "Force blaster", with himself as the trigger, would be another matter entirely. It was more than likely that they would want the craft destroyed.

The ring of boots on metal pulled his attention upward to the catwalk overhead, and a frown drew his brows together when he saw Mek'Lee and a tall, dark-haired human male striding across it, deep in conversation. The man, the same one who had stolen Tiperis' lightsaber, had introduced himself earlier as Bal Avalera. Obi-Wan had encountered the bounty hunters once or twice, which was to be expected considering that half of the installation was now off-limits because of the damage he himself had caused to the lower floors, but for the most part they did their best to avoid him.

Watching them, it didn't take him long to notice that Avalera had an arm about Mek'Lee's waist, or that she was holding the hand that rested on her hip, and his eyebrows lifted in surprise. He had known his share of bounty hunters in the five-and-some years of his apprenticeship, yet this group seemed to defy what he had come to expect. First, there was the fact that they did indeed work together, with Mek'Lee leading them – the stereotypical bounty hunter preferred to work alone, a generalisation that had been accurate in his past experiences. Second was the abrupt change of motive, from attacking the Jedi to aiding his rescue party, which made little sense when there was no real financial reward involved. And now there was the implied relationship between Mek'Lee and Avalera, however casual, to further disconcert him.

The young Jedi stared at the two crossing the catwalk, unaware of his scrutiny, until Mek'Lee glanced down and caught sight of him. She stiffened, and even with the distance between them Obi-Wan could see the wariness that tightened her face…he thought there was something more, possibly a hint of remorse, but it passed too rapidly to be certain. Her hand lifted in a hesitant salutation, surprising him, then she pulled on Avalera's arm and hurried the two of them along. Obi-Wan kept his gaze on them, unaware of the dark anger building inside him that her gesture had provoked until he found his hands clenched into shaking fists on his lap, fingernails biting into his palms. Shocked by the depth of his sudden rage, the apprentice drew and held a quick breath, focusing on the threatening emotion and trying to let it dissipate out of his mind. However, his attention only seemed to feed the anger, and it mushroomed into a blinding fury that eclipsed his vision with rapid, violent pulses.

"Force, _no_," he hissed through gritted teeth, lurching to his feet, the only calm thought in his head fixed on returning to the vacant personnel room that had been designated as his temporary quarters, and sealing himself inside. He stopped only to snatch the _Dawning_'s headset up from the floor, then rushed blindly toward the hangar's exit, shouldering his way out through the doors when they didn't open fast enough for him and blundering down the corridor.

_Why now?_ he wondered distractedly, the anger a suffocating, writhing mass in his chest that was probably bleeding into the Force and transmitting to every Jedi in the complex. _Why am I feeling like this __**now**__? _He was clueless, utterly bewildered. On the prior occasions he had seen Mek'Lee, the strongest emotion he had felt had been resentment…nothing like the ire he was currently experiencing. Fortunately, the control that he had managed to establish over the neural web meant that he could stop it from reacting, even though he could sense the Dark Side swirl around him, drawn by his fiery and seemingly uncontrollable rage.

He had barely made it halfway to his destination when an alarmed voice called his name, and a pair of strong hands grabbed at his arms, halting him roughly. Gasping raggedly, Obi-Wan shook his head and looked up into the dark, surprised eyes of Noreif Leksalis.

"Obi-Wan, what's wrong?" the Knight asked anxiously, tightening his grip when the younger Jedi tried to pull away. "Why are you so upset?"

"Nothing," Obi-Wan ground out, forcibly extricating himself from Noreif's grasp.

"I don't think you would be this angry about 'nothing'," Noreif remarked, but refrained from touching the apprentice again.

Obi-Wan didn't respond, pushing past Noreif and quickening his pace to a run. No doubt Noreif would inform Qui-Gon of the encounter, which made it all the more important to reach his quarters as soon as possible. He couldn't face his Master like this, especially when he didn't know what had set off his temper. Dashing through the corridors, it didn't take him long to reach the personnel section and he quickly located his room, slapping his hand on the controls and locking the door once he was inside. Harsh, snorting gasps huffed out of him as he slumped against the nearest wall, then he rocked forward and let out a howling scream, hoping to purge his rage verbally.

_Get out of me_, he growled silently. _Get out, __**get out!**_To his surprise, the internal demand seemed to be working, his emotions quieting gradually and leaving him even more confused than before. His cry tailed off and he straightened, unsure of what to make of the abrupt change. "Not right…it's not right," he mumbled breathlessly, walking to the sleep couch and sitting heavily on its edge. Trembling, he sagged backward into a sprawl, one forearm pressing across his eyes while he released a wavering sigh. His other arm flopped against the pillow…and he froze when his hand came into contact with a small, cool object.

He uncovered his eyes and grasped the item, bringing it to his face and peering at it while he turned it in his fingers. A holo-chip.

* * *

"Kerrov, relax." From where she sat on one of the cabin's two sleep couches, Sashri followed her companion's movements as he paced the deck. Her face showed the strain of long days spent waiting, with little else to occupy the time apart from reassuring the nervous scientist.

"I can't," Kerrov snapped, frustration in his voice. "There is less than a day left and nothing has happened yet."

"It will, just be patient," the woman tried to reassure.

"How can you be so sure?" His previous respect a few days ago had melted into doubt and irritation during their confinement. "I've watched you toy with that crystal for hours on end, and there has still been no result. To be honest, I don't think this strategy is going to work."

Sashri gave him a hard glare, then shook off her anger. "We can't do anything else," she reminded him bluntly. "I can always give up, if you're that eager to face Republic justice."

"No!" Kerrov blurted, holding up a placating hand. "Don't stop." He dropped onto the sleep couch opposite her and folded his arms. "If you believe that this is the best way to proceed, then I'll trust you."

"Good." Sashri studied his apprehensive face…it was fascinating, really, that two men could wear the same features so differently. Since his surgery, Kerrov had displayed a number of expressions that the more stoic Qui-Gon Jinn would rarely show openly. That said, the Jedi Master had certainly made little effort in hiding his disgust when he had questioned her almost a week ago now. She looked away from Kerrov, reminded once again of her betrayal and feeling guilt bubble reluctantly inside her; no matter how fervently she wished that she could distance herself from Obi-Wan, there was no denying the fondness that she had developed toward him during his stay on Lamari. That affection had been lost from the moment she had carried out the implantation of the neural web, buried beneath the importance of her task and the euphoria that had enveloped her upon its completion. She had been intoxicated with the power she had gained over Obi-Wan, but now that the roles were reversed she had sobered quickly, and it startled her to find that her previous amity with the young Jedi had mutated into shame and regret over her actions.

Shuddering, Sashri laced her fingers together on her lap and squeezed tightly, as though trying to quash her emotions between her palms. _I still care for him_, she realised with a pang. _Compared to the fate of my people it shouldn't make a difference, but it __**does**_._ I've destroyed him and damned myself in doing so_. She blinked as her vision clouded with tears, and she ducked her head to conceal them from Kerrov. The last thing she needed was to panic the scientist again with any indication of her own doubt. Not that she had misgivings about her plan – she knew that it would succeed, even though their time was growing short; it was whether or not she could put aside her feelings in order to save herself that troubled her.

Sighing quietly, she deliberately loosened her fingers and calmed herself. She was tired of maintaining her cool façade for Kerrov's sake, but it was what he expected from her…how she had always been since they had started working together a few years ago. Strange, that in those years they had never grown closer than being colleagues, regarding each other with respect and nothing more. Unlike many others of his generation, Kerrov seemed in awe of her Force-abilities, meagre as they were compared to those of a Jedi. However, his admiration was waning in captivity, consumed by the very real threat of punishment for his part in the _Madellin-ki_ project.

"Can I ask you something?"

The unexpected enquiry startled her a little, and she looked up at Kerrov who was leaning toward her. She acceded with a tired nod, and he shifted forward until he was sitting on the very edge of his sleep couch.

"I know you've already said that we have no choice than to use your crystal," he began, his gaze drifting toward her pocket and the meditation stone hidden inside it. "But I get the impression that you would be doing this even if there were other options. I was just wondering why you're so certain about what you're doing. How do you know he's going to come?"

Sashri paused, considering the question, and examined his face again. _Not even his eyes are really his anymore_, she thought, contrasting the mental image of Kerrov's naturally brown irises to the artificially altered blue ones she could see now. "Because I promised him an end," she replied eventually, not really expecting the scientist to understand. Judging by the faint wrinkling of a frown that appeared between his eyebrows, he did not. "All I'm doing is ensuring that he will _want_ it, and that he will come to me for it."

* * *

Obi-Wan stared at the holo-chip in his hand, rubbing his thumb across its surface while he contemplated it. Where had it come from? It couldn't have been his Master or any of the other Jedi – he would have found some residual evidence of their presence in the Force – and he could think of no reason for one of the bounty hunters to leave a holo-chip in his temporary quarters. Sitting up and pushing himself from the sleep couch, Obi-Wan crossed the room and retrieved the small holo-projector from his belt, which had been draped across a chair by the wall. His hand moved to linger briefly on the hilt of his lightsaber, then he pulled away and slotted the chip into the projector. A hologram coalesced into focus above the projection platform, taking the shape of a tall, thin human with keen, indigo eyes and a tangle of long red hair tied in an untidy ponytail behind him.

"Progress update," the man stated, his voice deep and commanding, almost in contradiction to his flighty appearance. "The initial preparations for the _Madellin-ki_ subject have been completed. I have been informed that the Senate has allocated two Jedi Knights – a Master and Padawan team – to oversee the loading and departure of the _thrana_ shipment."

During a brief pause, Obi-Wan nodded to himself in comprehension: the human was talking about the mission that he and Qui-Gon had undertaken on Lamari. Somehow, the reports made by the stranger in the recording had made their way into his possession. His mouth tightened determinedly. Perhaps he could finally find some answers that would explain these last nightmarish months.

"So far there have been no reports of suspicion in the Senate or the Jedi Council. Sashri is now in possession of the modified meditation stone, and has been made aware of the consequences of failure, although I have no doubt that she will carry out her instructions. In fact, she appears quite eager."

Obi-Wan's eyebrows lifted in shock. Because of what she had done to him, he had held something of a grudge against Sashri, assuming that it was she who had been in charge of the project. It was evident now that she had been under another's command…the man who had made this holographic recording, whom he was certain he had no knowledge of despite his faulty memory. The image flickered and changed slightly, with the man wearing his hair in a thick braid that trailed over his left shoulder.

"Progress update: the Jedi arrived this morning, and to my delight we discovered that the Padawan's abilities are quite advanced. As soon as it is prudent, arrangements will be made to have him separated from his Master and assigned to Sashri, who should be able to effect the implantation in a few days' time."

The hologram shimmered again, cycling forward to a later point on the chip, but the man's appearance didn't seem to alter this time, the same sloppy braid hanging over his shoulder. Unconsciously, the apprentice fingered his own braid as he watched the stranger's lips curve into a pleased smile.

"Progress update: the attempt on Qui-Gon Jinn's life proved successful in inducing the neural web to a greater rate of growth. The Project has now regained the time lost due to Kenobi's unintentional hindrance, which Kerrov believes was caused by the substantial mental training that the Jedi are required to undertake. Fortunately, Kenobi appears to remain unaware of the implant's presence."

Obi-Wan physically staggered at the information that the hologram was revealing to him, and he stumbled backward to sink unsteadily onto the sleep couch. _What? __**What? **_he thought disbelievingly, his eyes wide. The event the man was referring to could only be the savage attack on Dareela that had nearly killed Qui-Gon. "No," he whispered. _I was responsible…it was my fault_.

"However," the human went on, folding his arms and frowning faintly, "the emotional episode that led to this increased development has uncovered an unexpected weakness in the web's design. It seems that during his connection to the meditation stone, Kenobi became vulnerable to what the Jedi refer to as the 'dark side' of the Force, something that I failed to take into account. As a result, the meditation stone was rendered useless. We will have to take great care in the future to avoid a similar occurrence with the neural web itself."

The hologram paused of its own accord, leaving the dumbfounded Padawan to stare at the frozen image, his mouth open in an expression of incredulity. "That's it," he breathed, the hand on which the little holo-projector rested trembling visibly with the importance of his insight. "That's it!" His gaze refocused on a point beyond the hologram as he summoned a memory that he had all but forgotten in the last few weeks: that night in the hospital gardens on Dareela. He should have realised long ago…if his thoughts had been clearer, he _would_ have realised that the Force had already shown him the solution to his problems.

The Dark Side. In order to free himself of the web's effects, he would have to channel the Dark Side, with its terrible power focused on his body rather than on a natural receptor like the meditation crystal. But what would such a course of action do to him? The thought of turning, of becoming a fallen Jedi like Xanatos, was one that had used to haunt him after his first battle with the ruthless former Padawan of Qui-Gon's. At the time, he had sensed Xanatos' bitterness and felt it to be a dark mirror of his own feelings at not becoming a Padawan, and had often wondered what he might have become if Qui-Gon had not accepted him as an apprentice. Would he have been content with a life in Agricorps? Or would he, because of his unwavering belief that his destiny lay elsewhere, have grown embittered and resentful until he was drawn into a life serving the Dark Side, much like Xanatos?

He shook his head, forcing himself out of his musings. There was no point in dwelling on the past and old fears…now, against all odds, he might have a future more akin to the one he had always envisioned, one that didn't include the neural web. His previous acceptance of the implant was dwindling rapidly, reverting back to the abhorrence that he had felt toward it before, and to his surprise he found that he welcomed the switch.

_Careful_, he cautioned himself. _There's no guarantee that this will work_. It would be dangerous to take the new information for granted, especially since he still had no idea where the holo-chip had come from. He lowered his gaze to the holoprojector, intending to remove the chip and inspect it again in the hope of finding a clue, then blinked when he saw the hologram reactivate and change once more – the strange human sported different clothes this time, and his lean face looked haggard and angry.

"Now you know as much as my logs can tell you, Obi-Wan Kenobi." The young Jedi started, astonished to hear the man addressing him. "What they do not inform you is that my loyalties have changed. I will no longer agree to the terms that the Lamari have set me, and since the project has in effect been terminated, I have decided to aid you instead. There is more information that you ought to know, but I would rather disclose it in a real-time conversation. If you can reach a comm. station, this chip will automatically establish a link to me." The human dipped his head in a gesture that could have been respect. "I will await your decision, although I cannot emphasise enough the importance of contact between us."

With that, the hologram dissolved and the projector became dormant in the palm of Obi-Wan's hand, leaving him to stare blankly at empty air. So the unknown man in the recording had had something to do with the Padawan finding the chip. Did that mean that he was still here in the Lamarin installation? Or had another party acted on his behalf and planted the chip in this room, where more likely than not Obi-Wan would be the first to find it? In either case, it led him to wonder if he should tell Qui-Gon and the other Jedi of his discovery.

He set the projector aside carefully and leaned forward, cupping his chin in his palms. _What do I do?_ he asked silently. Part of him wanted to put the question to his Master and allow the older Jedi to make the decision for him, but the doubt in his mind instructed him otherwise. He could find no obvious harm in a simple communication, and he would always have the opportunity to discuss what he had learned from the chip with Qui-Gon later.

His choice made, Obi-Wan straightened and began to reach for the projector, intending to remove the holo-chip. The rap of knuckles on metal stayed his hand and he looked round toward the door, flinching as he heard a familiar voice call his name from the corridor outside.

"Obi-Wan?" A staccato of urgent taps followed the enquiry, reminding him that he had locked the door. "Padawan, are you all right?"

At the escalating concern in Qui-Gon's voice, Obi-Wan gained his feet and snatched the projector from the sleep couch, ejecting the holo-chip and pocketing it while he hurriedly returned the projector to its pouch on his belt. A locked door wouldn't hold his Master for long, and he had no intention of causing Qui-Gon any more anxiety than he already had. Hesitating only a moment to compose himself and straighten his tunics, Obi-Wan disengaged the lock and took a step or two back as the door slid open and a harried-looking Qui-Gon entered, his eyes examining the apprentice briefly before the tension faded from his face.

"I spoke to Noreif," he said brusquely, the strain in his voice betraying his calm. "He informed me that you were upset, and that you refused to tell him why." He paused and moved closer. When he had sensed his Padawan's turmoil through the Force, he had at first been afraid that Obi-Wan had succumbed to the neural web and suffered an emotional breakdown. However, nothing in the younger Jedi's demeanour revealed anything of the sort. "Will you tell me?"

"To be honest, Master, I'm not certain myself of what happened." Obi-Wan offered an awkward smile. "I saw Mek'Lee in the hangar and…well, I got angry," he finished lamely. "I apologise if I worried you, but I didn't want to see anyone until I had calmed down."

"I understand, although I would have felt better if you had come to me straight away," Qui-Gon remarked, his hand clasping Obi-Wan's shoulder reassuringly. "Why were you angry when you saw Mek'Lee?" he enquired, suspecting that the fault lay with the bounty hunter. To his surprise, Obi-Wan merely shrugged.

"She waved at me," the teenager answered quietly. "I don't know why I found that so offensive, but this rage just welled up inside me and I couldn't channel it away." All too aware of the holo-chip in his pocket, he made a show of placing a hand over his eyes and rubbing wearily. "Maybe I've been working with the implant too long," he suggested, and there was a ring of truth in his words. At least that wasn't an exaggeration; it felt like that was all he had been doing for days.

Qui-Gon sighed, unwittingly revealing his own fatigue. "Padawan, both Raeshin and I have warned you about over-exerting yourself, especially considering the stress that your body has been through," he reminded, even while his stern expression softened. "I don't want to be harsh, Obi-Wan, but you should know better." He waved off the younger Jedi's immediate apologies. "We'll talk more about this later. Raeshin has asked to speak to us; apparently, he has learned something important about the web."

Obi-Wan nodded obediently and allowed his Master to guide him out of the room with a hand on his back, curious as to what the Healer had discovered…perhaps he had come across the same information that the holo-chip contained. That thought brought his attention back to the object in his pocket and he felt a quick flush of irritation at the unexpected delay in contacting the stranger, then chided himself for his impatience. After all this time, surely half an hour would make little difference?

* * *

Slumped in a chair in the Lamarin installation's communications room, Obi-Wan stared at the holo-chip in his hand. There were traces of drying tears on his face, but he made no move to wipe them away, his expression one of numb shock. He had been wrong. Half an hour had made a world of difference, his relief at finding a possible solution to his problems briefly torn apart by Raeshin's latest prognosis. The Healer had revealed that, while the neural web had stopped growing, its organic components were stripping material from his body to sustain themselves, essentially eating him alive. According to Raeshin, there was no way of halting or even temporarily interrupting the process. At its current rate of consumption, Obi-Wan could support the web for perhaps only eight or nine months, certainly no more than a year, with the possibility of extending his life by a few months with bacta treatment. There was also the chance that other healers back home at the Temple might find a way to remove the implant safely before he succumbed to its appetite, but the young Jedi couldn't hold much hope for that idea.

Obi-Wan shuddered. For all his supposed maturity, he found himself barely able to cope with the new development, panic already bubbling in his thoughts. He was left now with two options: spend a large portion of his remaining time in a bacta tank, or try to destroy the neural web by channelling the Dark Side. Both were daunting and had the potential for failure, the consequences of which were dire in either case.

An insistent urge was rising inside him, pressing him to tell Qui-Gon about the holo-chip and ask for his opinion. If his Master wished him to undertake the bacta treatment, he would comply without a second thought, although it was more likely that the man would refuse to make such a decision for Obi-Wan. But no matter how much he needed the man's support, he knew that he wouldn't act on the desire to inform him. The older Jedi had been devastated by Raeshin's prognosis, utterly heartbroken, and he couldn't burden Qui-Gon with more problems, not after seeing the despair in the man's eyes.

_Oh Force, Master, I'm so sorry!_ he cried silently, suddenly fighting fresh tears and fisting his hand around the holo-chip.It seemed that in the past weeks he had done an entire lifetime's worth of apologising, but it meant nothing. The sorrow and pain of current events weren't going to be healed with words – only action was going to resolve any of this, and that action was going to have to be on his part.

For a moment, all he could do was sit there, hunched and afraid, lost in self-pity; then he uncurled his fingers and looked at the chip with renewed determination. He couldn't face living the next year or so in this kind of limbo, waiting for the dubious possibility of another solution to be found while he and those closest to him suffered the emotional pain that he was struggling with now.

Obi-Wan leaned forward and inserted the holo-chip into the nearest comm-unit, activating the machine and waiting for the automatic link to establish itself while he plucked self-consciously at his braid. The connection took only a few minutes, and Obi-Wan sat up straighter as the stranger from the reports appeared onscreen, his eyes bright with pleased curiosity and strands of long hair trailing around his face.

"Well, Padawan Kenobi," he remarked, a smile quirking his lips. "I'm glad you decided to speak to me."

"Who are you?" Obi-Wan demanded, his body tensing into alertness despite the fact that he was addressing a screen rather than the man himself. All thought of diplomacy was vanishing quickly.

If he was bothered by the apprentice's brevity, the stranger gave no indication. "My name is Devrye Sanpirl. You could call me the former co-ordinator of the _Madellin-ki_ project."

Fully intending to interrogate the man, Obi-Wan was somewhat startled to hear himself ask, "Why did you do this?" in a quiet voice, feeling the same sense of absurd, surreal detachment that he had experienced when he had spoken to Mek'Lee during his brief period of freedom on her ship.

Devrye looked at him with an expression of faintly mocking pity. "What you really want to ask is: Why did you do this _to me_, isn't it?" At Obi-Wan's silence, he gave a short, barking laugh. "Because you were convenient, that's why. You watched my report for the day you arrived on Lamari. The bottom line is, any Padawan would have done – it was just fortunate for us that you turned up." He snorted. "Bad luck, kid. But then again, you Jedi don't believe in luck, do you?"

The Padawan remained silent a few moments longer, staring at Devrye pensively and trying to conjure some reaction to Sanpirl's abrasive attitude, but all he could manage was a mild annoyance. "I'm dying," he said at last, a little surprised by his own statement.

"I know," Devrye responded, this time with a trace of regret. "That wasn't my idea. In fact, Sashri and I argued against it, but the Lamari were adamant. They thought it was too much of a risk to allow you to live with the implant inside you, in case you turned on them. Where I saw opportunity, they saw potential disaster."

"Sashri protested?" Obi-Wan was taken-aback.

"Oh, yes. She became quite fond of you during your stay on Lamari, and she pushed her government to reconsider as soon as you had left. See, in its first stage, when the core is forming in the brain," Sanpirl went on, "the web's post-development behaviour can be programmed. That means that, if it had been decided to do so, we could have instructed the web to become inert once it had matured. However, because of the Lamarin government's decision, we had to program it to remain in an active state. It was a contingency plan of sorts, in case something prevented the Lamari here on the base from killing you themselves."

"And now?" the apprentice challenged, his eyes hard. "You said yourself that the project has ended."

"So?" Devrye asked, spreading his hands dismissively. "The programming can't be changed after the neural web's core has taken root."

"Then take it out." There was a tremor in Obi-Wan's voice. "Please."

"I can't," was the answer. "It's just not possible. The web wasn't designed to be removed from a person's body. I've already given you the only solution I know of."

Obi-Wan turned away from the screen, dejection on his face. "Do you have any idea what I risk by channelling the Dark Side?" he murmured, his fists clenching on his lap.

"Oh, honestly," Devrye snapped in exasperation. "Are you Jedi really so uncertain about yourselves that even the mention of the Dark Side sends you cowering?" At Obi-Wan's sharp glare, he smirked. "Judging by how easy you are to anger, I suppose you have a reason to be afraid. I doubt it would take much for _you_ to turn."

"And you're such an expert," the Padawan retorted, lifting his chin and keeping his voice even. "Weren't you the one who didn't realise what effect the Dark Side would have on your precious project? Or did you just forget to include it in your designs?"

Devrye was unimpressed by Obi-Wan's gibes. "I suppose your Healer told you that you had several months to live," he commented, giving the young Jedi pause. "In truth you have no more than a few weeks." He waited a moment to let the apprentice absorb the information, watching his face cloud with shocked disbelief. "Aren't you curious to know why the web is eating away your body so quickly?" he asked, his voice slightly taunting.

Shaken, all Obi-Wan could do was nod his head dumbly. _Weeks?_ Raeshin couldn't have made such a mistake, even with the damage that the instruments in the medical bay had sustained. Needless to say, the Healer could have deliberately misinformed him about his drastically reduced lifespan, but Raeshin had seemed sincere…and, of course, the man was a Jedi. He wouldn't lie to Obi-Wan without good cause, and the Padawan could think of no legitimate reason that would lead Raeshin to deceive him – and not only him, but Qui-Gon as well.

"Don't blame your Healer. He doesn't know," Devrye added, apparently guessing Obi-Wan's thoughts. "His prognosis was correct – if somebody wasn't tampering with the web, you _would_ have months to live."

"Tampering?" Obi-Wan blurted, aware of an inexplicable tightness in his chest and an itching sensation along his spine. Who would be foolish enough to interfere with the neural implant, especially considering the near-catastrophe that had taken place three days ago? If that hadn't been demonstration enough of how deadly the web's power was… "How long has this 'tampering' been going on? Did someone initiate the last purge?" he demanded, struggling with a flare of outrage at the sheer stupidity – or sheer malice – of such an act.

"It began several days ago. And yes, you could conclude that the purge you spoke of was deliberate, although it wasn't by _my_ instructions." He tipped his head thoughtfully. "Apart from your Jedi friends, there's only one person currently in the complex with the Force-ability to interfere with the web."

Obi-Wan's face was pale, but the expression on it was harsh. "Sashri." He turned his head to look at the door to the communications room, almost as if he expected the woman to walk through at the very mention of her name, then refocused his attention on the human. "Why is she doing it?" he asked. "What changed her mind since I was on Lamari?"

"She may have the highest midi-chlorian count on her planet, and the most advanced Force-ability to go with it, but she's no Jedi," Devrye answered. "I think that's been in the flaw in your thinking when it comes to Sashri. She is a creature driven by interest – for her planet or for herself, it makes no difference, because it's still a selfish interest. When you were with her, she wanted to keep you alive because you weren't a threat. Now that she knows that she can no longer control you, she wants you dead."

Sitting back heavily in the chair, Obi-Wan released a heavy, shaking breath, the comment affecting him harder than he would have thought possible. If there was truth in what Devrye was saying, and his own experiences led him to agree with the man, then Sashri's actions amounted to more than simple betrayal. The thought that she could disregard life so easily shocked him deeply. Didn't she have any moral compunction within her? He frowned, feeling rage begin to stir inside him once more, but this time he made no attempt to discourage it. _She's killing me_, he thought bitterly, no longer aware of Sanpirl studying him from the screen. _Inflicting this on me wasn't enough…she has to take it one step farther and __**destroy**__ me_.

Devrye recalled his attention with a clap of his hands, a slight smile on his face. "You see how easy it is?" he asked wryly. "There shouldn't be any problem neutralising the implant now that you have a focus for your anger. But if I were you, I would get to Sashri and stop her from interfering further." His smile grew and he lifted a hand, startling the young Jedi. "Good luck, Padawan Kenobi."

"Wait!" Obi-Wan blurted, lunging out of the chair. "You're going now?"

"There's nothing left for me to say," Devrye replied with a shrug. "What you do with the information I've given you is your decision."

"But what if channelling the Dark Side doesn't work? How do I get in touch with you?"

"You don't." Devrye eyed him disparagingly. "In fact, I doubt you'll ever hear from me again. I'm no fool, Padawan Kenobi. I have no intention of being prosecuted for my actions, and another contact with you is too much of a risk. Besides, I've already given you all the help I can," he pointed out. "There's nothing else I can do for you."

"You haven't even told me why you're helping me," Obi-Wan protested, reluctant to allow the man to end the communication. As eager as he was for this whole ordeal to be over, the thought of what still lay ahead of him was frightening.

"That's something I'm not willing to discuss," Devrye answered uncomfortably. "It should be enough that I'm helping you at all." He turned away from the screen in a gesture that was deliberately dismissive, seemingly about to cut the link himself, then hesitated. "I will be watching for news on how you fared," he said quietly, half-tilting his face toward the Padawan. "I hope everything goes well for you, Obi-Wan."

With that, the screen went dark, leaving the young Jedi in startled silence, one hand lifted toward the comm-unit as though to summon Sanpirl back even though he knew the man would not reply. Slowly, Obi-Wan slumped back into the chair and leaned his elbows on his knees, trying to calm his thoughts enough to make sense of the recent conversation. His situation had changed rapidly, with too little time for him to fully contemplate the implications of what he had learned, but he couldn't dwell any longer on his options when there really were none. If he didn't try to destroy the web now, there would be no hope of recovery. His only choice was between the possibility of falling to the Dark Side, and the certainty of death.

It took only the thought of what Qui-Gon would face over the next few weeks if he _didn't_ try to resolve the doubt in his mind. He had never really acknowledged it, but his Master had suffered as well these last months; to make him endure any more when the solution to their problems was within his grasp seemed cruel.

His expression hardening, Obi-Wan rose from the chair and moved toward the door without bothering to retrieve the holo-chip from the comm-unit, intent upon the one thing that could prevent his attempts to finally overcome the neural web, something which he had been avoiding almost as resolutely as he had been with the bounty hunters.

Confronting Sashri.

* * *

tbc…


End file.
